“Your seeds are going to grow. Just wait and see.” The promise of a 6 year old.

I planted seeds in little black pots 15 days ago.10365334_10152176209594141_4294130437035387578_o

Even while I planted them I could feel doubt leaking through my pores dampening my gloves from the inside.  I kept sighing heavily and under my weighted breath, I mumble to myself “Damn! It takes so much patience handling these delicate tiny seeds!”

1512123_10152176209374141_1716312486319668743_oThe gruff work of dragging out the wheelbarrow from our garden shed, throwing 25 pound bags of potting mix and a shovel into the wheelbarrow warms my muscles. I enjoy feeling blood surge through my body as I lift, swing, bend and stretch while mixing soil in the belly of wheelbarrow with my hands. Shaking soil out of large bags of potting mix doesn’t take muscle dexterity or attention to detail. Just a little heave hoh! I suck in my stomach muscles, lift the bag. I bend and stretch my lower back, spread wide my shoulders and shake the soil free into a large vessel. I love the feeling of digging my whole hands, up to my forearms and wiggling my fingers into soft, rich, lightly damp earth with no gloves on.

10379799_10152176209469141_636292424527217925_oThe contrast, though, is tearing open a little paper bag the size of my palm and reaching in to take out tiny seeds between my finger tips. I fumble and grope and the pit of my stomach grips with frustration.  Detail and delicacy counting minute seeds overwhelm me. Instantly frustration blooms into anger.  Doubt floods my nervous system like dropping a dam in a gushing river.

I drop the little packet of seeds into the wheelbarrow and step away, shaking and sweating.

I squat down on the lower step of the deck and put my head in my hands. I am so familiar with this sensation of frustration that takes over me.  Flashes of kindergarten handwriting lessons and scolding to sit still and be quiet from my teachers. I blunder to myself,

“How can I do this differently this time? How can I let doubt run through me instead of drive me?”

I actually hear myself answer.

“Open both valves and let the doubt run through you. Open and take it in. Then open and let it run out of you. Feel it run like a current and flow.”

Wow! I feel a rush.  Caffeine and white rapids run through me.  Fear and thrill are so close together.

Heat and moisture exude from my fingertips and ignite life force held in this tiny seed.  Hope, faith, and determination are tied together inside this eensy weensy seed.  I feel a deep quiver near the base of my spine as my skin touches the seed’s skin. I breathe. I take another big inhale and slow down my exhale.  My heart bangs in my chest and instead of anger I just breathe in the sensation.  Is this excitement?  Is this anticipation?  Is this hope?  I keep a little tiny seed pinched between my fingertips and sit at the edge of the deck.

1493544_10152176209514141_699298959580009129_oI drop the seed in the palm of my left hand.  With my hand turned open to the sun, I look at this sweet tiny fleck of cosmos flower seed cradled in my hot pink sweaty palm.  Blood is rushing through my hands from lifting, shaking, stirring gardening soil mix.  This little seed looks like it is sleeping, dreaming, totally blissed out. In this oval shaped speck holds a flower from sprout to blossom.  It carries an entire lifespan of beauty and service.  I hold in the palm of my hand a being that brings pleasure to insects, children, and my beloved who appreciates flowers in vases.

Heat and moisture exude from my fingertips and ignite the life force in this tiny seed.

“Hey, you wanna see my sunflower?”

My Master Gardener buddy asks me.  He proudly shows me his sunflower sprouting out of his handmade flower pot he created from scrap auto parts from his Dad.10010201_10152171238179141_8834986864897916197_o

“Wow, that’s awesome! My seeds haven’t sprouted yet.”

I say.

“Your seeds are going to grow. Just wait and see.”

He promises.

17 days later.

10295184_10152176268374141_7240098216485326980_oJust like my buddy knew, seeds sprout. That’s just what they do.

Energy flows.

“Where attention goes, spirit flows.”

That’s just what life does.



Carola Marashi M.A. Heart Whisperer

Carola Marashi M.A. Intuition CounselorAbout Me-Carola Marashi M.A., Published Author and Writing Coach.

I have a Master’s Degree in Transpersonal Psychology and author of 2 books-Sensual Eating, 1992; and Sacred Dance and 22 Card divination deck of my original art, 2010 2nd Edition.

As a writing coach, I listen with soft ears- to breath, pauses, rhythm of speech and the words chosen. Our ears go straight to our heart. My purpose is to help others follow their heart, trust their intuition and walk their path.

Sessions can be on the phone or skype. Currently I live in Beaverton Oregon west of Portland with my beloved and 2 cats.

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