Listening to the Fern

I bought a fern last month. It was wrapped in a tube of cellophane with only the tips of the leaves showing. It seemed mysterious, unrevealed. It spoke to me.

During the cold weather I ache to work in the garden - to plant, to prune, water, trim, enjoy. To commune with the Spirit in greenery, vegetation. So, like others in cold climates, I take my gardening indoors. A small ivy grew big as the room and now has many pots with its offspring. A little succulent sits on the window sill and drapes over the edge. It's babies grow in the pot. The dogs knocked onto the floor a whole tableful of African violets. I’ve pampered them till they are again blooming in huge bouquets of deep coral, dark purple, pale variegated white and violet. Even the geranium, which can’t overwinter outdoors, is happy in its spot in the sun.

I’ve bought Spring bulbs for when the ground is not frozen. I’ve taken them out of their bag and counted them, feeling them, planning their destination in the yard. My goal is to eventually have foliage and flowers thick in my yard, plunging down the inclines and lapping against the fences. But I have to wait to continue my plan.

I’m not always aware of my longings, like these feelings about planting outdoors.They can surprise me. Longings reside in a deeper part of myself and I can so often live on the surface. Dreams may goad me - like the one I had of an angel standing next to me while I wrote and saying “write deeper, write deeper”. But too often the voice from my depths is quiet, unassuming. That little nudge I feel can be so easy to ignore. It can go against what my rational or busy self wants. But sometimes my spirit grabs me and shakes, so that I actually see the fern and spend money I’d normally not.

When I sat the fern on the table and cut away its tube it mushroomed into a froth of tender green leaves. Its laciness let the sunlight shine through, a glowing green globe. Its vibrant color speaks to me of beauty, life, delight. I am deeply satisfied by it.

My deeper part, the Spirit, prefers to speak quietly, though it can be louder. It prefers conversation to dictating my actions. It responds to my often unknown yearnings. It delights in color and shape, suggests ideas for my jewelry, savors the sun and earth,

music and our dogs. It is leading me into a deeper, bigger self and I am finding my calling. Which is to be, to honor and share my gifts.

My spirit is like this fern, delicate, satisfying, gifting. And quietly it is insistent.