Javajune's Blog

Someone once said… “Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.”

The secret garden of hidden truths

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Follow me to the secret garden

She came to this place as though it were by instinct. The pathway to this hidden place was lush and closed in around her as she approached the hedge. The old hedge of Crepe Myrtles stretched 30 feet or more along the hillside. When she stepped past it there was a heavy wrought iron gate that was now rusted and broken away from its hinges.  It was covered in thick vines weaving their way through every hole. Everything looked so intriguing through heavy iron and leafy vines. The gate made the garden more alluring and she heard it call her name. Temptation forced her to take a peek and she was rendered breathless at the sight. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide this place it must be a secret worth keeping. It looked as if this garden had a mind of its own and was not willing to reveal its secret too easily. It resembled an old Gothic graveyard and a most unusual sight, like a time and place in another world. It was so close and hidden in a landscape of open beach dunes only a few feet away.  The garden was hauntingly beautiful but it was filled with a resonance of deep sorrow that radiated throughout the grounds.  Roses and honeysuckle vines grew wildly and the moon flowers were just beginning to open as the light began to fade. Night Jasmine saturated the air with a luring scent that said come closer. The graveyard garden was bordered by a rusty iron fence and each three foot section ended with a 7 foot pole. Hanging from each pole was a glowing garden lantern. The light that flickered as the lanterns swayed with the breeze dazzled her eyes. It bathed the garden with shimmering light and set it apart from the landscape that surrounded it. The plants seemed to respond to her arrival by growing taller and unleashing an intoxicating scent as she passed by.

Twilight, lovely flowers, and a lantern’s glow set this garden apart from the world. It was silent except for the sound of the breeze that whispered through the vines. The whispering silence made her feel on edge and uncomfortable standing in her own skin. Her heart raced as she felt every breath hot and damp coming from her lips. It seemed more like a dream; this place couldn’t be real. She looked to the center of the memorial garden and there was a beautiful angel standing seven feet tall with her wings gracefully opened wide. The base of the statue read, “Angel of Hope”.  Suddenly she got the feeling that she didn’t belong and was intruding on a private space but then she noticed something. The name on the little head stone at the base of the statue was familiar. It was in the middle of  tiny flowers and several other broken headstones. Rose vines had taken over and grew wildly in and out of the head stones and over the wrought iron fence. A honeysuckle vine was spewing a heavy scent into the atmosphere. If it weren’t for the stunning beauty of this place it would be almost unbearable. The emotion of this secret garden was overwhelming and she couldn’t help but be over-taken by the power of sadness that resonated. Her time in this secret garden was a walk that weaved its way through the lies of her life but she didn’t recognize the truth that was standing right before her.

It felt like a good day for story telling. This story is based on the time I went searching for my roots and found the truth in a beautiful garden/cemetery.

Enjoy this day and everyday!

xo-jj

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August 4, 2009 Posted by | family woes, me, secrets | , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Rural America, Gypsies and me

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It becomes obvious to me that I live in rural America when I come across a folky scene just like the one I encountered yesterday. Okay it went like this: I was driving home from the big city, well what I call the big city, and while cruising down the highway listening to the radio I almost had an accident. Why, because to my left in a little country cemetery, where my Grandparents are buried, was a horse trailer. I thought to myself, “that’s odd why is a horse trailer parked in the cemetery.” Then I took a closer look and saw a man with his hat in his hand holding the reins to his horse. They both stood in front of a grave stone. It was as if they were praying or paying respects to a loved one who had passed. I was so astonished by what I saw and I really wanted to get off the highway and take a picture but something told me not to impose and keep it as a visual memory.  It was an unforgettable sight. I wish I could have captured it with my camera but I guess that would have been rude.

Speaking of rural America I recently came across some info on my southern roots. They are about as rural as one can get. The rumor has always been that my great-grandmother was an American Indian but I found some info to the contrary. She may really have been a gypsy.  She never really said anything about where she came from or who her family was. It was just assumed by the way she looked, long braid down her back, long skirts to the floor, dark eyes, weathered skin, etc that she was Indian.  Duci was silent about her life and her past. The gypsy evidence would explain a lot, like her total separation with her family, no birth certificate, her fortune telling predictions, odd beliefs and stories,. I didn’t know her well, the truth is she kind of scared me by the way she would look at me like she knew something I didn’t and then just turn and walk away.  

Gypsies weren’t welcome anywhere back then and many tried to pass themselves off as Native Americans because that group was better excepted. I’ve always wondered how roots or ethnicity play a role in who we are, even if we were never exposed to that culture.  I’m curious to know if certain tendencies creep in because of our DNA. What do you think? 

xo-jj

July 21, 2009 Posted by | family woes, me, secrets | , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments