Navigating Life's Edges

I realized I needed to be the gardener of my life.

Cape Breton, Nova Scotia

Where do I begin? I think I will begin at the edge.

I am intimately familiar with edges. Living on the edges of societal norms, cutting things close to the edge, and walking on the physical edge. For years, I lived steps away from, and walked most days along, the cold Atlantic ocean cliffs in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. There were windy days when I wondered if I would fall off the edge. There were days when part of me wanted to.

I made all my important decisions on the edge, wrote poems in my head on the edge, and dreamed new dreams on the edge. Looking to eagles and foxes for signs, I knew when to leave and when to stay.

The Fool was my favourite tarot card. So close to the edge and ready to step off. Would they fall into the abyss or be caught by those promised nets of surrender? Like the fool, I romanticized jumping off, taking the plunge, and skydiving into new realities.

In some cases, I took surrender experiments to the edge. It got to a point where I realized I was committed to living a life on the edge. And in this world of constantly changing landscapes, I‘m not sure that was ever a good commitment.

Here’s the thing about edges that look like cliffs: you can always turn around, step away, and go in a different direction. In my little neighbourhood in Cape Breton, I used to watch paths fall away as the cliffs eroded each year. You never have to live and build a life on crumbling ground. It can be easier.

Mystras, Greece

But what if the edge was a border? A hedgerow, a hand-built stone wall, or a line of lavender and rose bushes? A way to contain and hold the part of yourself that simply needs to sit and rest for a while?

I don’t mean this in a way to keep the world out and close up the heart like so many stones stacked on top of each other. In any good sanctuary, there is also an entrance that can be opened when you need it.

And in a garden, you open to a whole new world once through the gates. The little one in me still likes to see fairies dancing under mushroom caps or dancing in the wind. The sky is above and the earth beneath your feet, inviting you into other planes of being. All while the edge creates the space to return to yourself, dream, dance, and come alive again.

Archeological Gardens, Chania, Creece

You may wonder why I’ve chosen the garden as an anchoring metaphor, especially since I am not a gardener. What happened?

Well, I’ve always found comfort in garden spaces, even if I didn’t create them myself. When I was spending the week in my mother’s garden, watching and rewatching Monty Don’s travel garden series on Paradise Gardens, it was like a thousand sparks of inspiration lit up in me.

Everything I’d ever done and loved came into clear focus, and I realized I needed to be the gardener of my life

I knew that to return from the cliff edge, I needed a flowing, sensual, four-quadrant-bordered garden with all the elements and a fountain that reminded me to connect with my source.

I could have left it there. I could have quietly kept this approach to life and work to myself, but I am creative, and creations must be shared.

I journeyed and asked for advice. Hummingbird came and told me to build the garden and to make it so beautiful that all would be joyful there.