In her almost two hundred year history, the dollhouse, hosted many guests and had many owners. Each one with stories to share. These walls know everything, saw everything, heard everything and felt everything, protecting and sheltering all inside from the cruel world.
The dollhouse is a safe house.
A welcoming space to shelter all from life's storms.
“It is better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war”.
In the dollhouse, the warrior trained. Deeply, intensely and aggressively, he dedicated his life to his principles. He trained daily, physically and mentally pushing himself to great expansion.
He studied his ancestors and their way of living.
His thoughts and beliefs unbreakable.
The Samurai Warrior was strong and fragile when he got to the dollhouse. His fragility became his source of strength and here at the dollhouse he would heal his wounds.
A lifetime of living within a society structured in opposition to his beliefs, had pushed him so far within his psyche that a great warrior was created.
Ashes lay all about the dollhouse as the sage and Palo Santo burn. The rooms dark and comfortable. Grand statues from far away lands fill the entire space of the dollhouse. Dark wood trim remind him of his ancestors. He displays his swords proudly.
Deep cuts are like aged scars on the handrailing of the dollhouse, as remembrance of his training.
Over time, as the warrior's wounds healed, he softened. Softened to the world around him. No longer hating the cruel world, he learned to love.
He yearned for a love he did not ever experience in his youth. As he aged, he spent his time discovering what love is and felt proud to stand tall in the community.
His fragility heavily protected by his ancestors principles, he found himself trying to live in a world that felt foreign to him at times. Some understood him, most didn't. He walked a path most chose to never consider. But within the walls of the dollhouse, he could breathe. He could cry. He could smile. He could just be. So he lives on here, tending to his gardens, protecting his sacred space.
I wake with the sun.
Every morning is my rebirth.
I rise with the sun and sing with the birds.
I think of Siddhartha Gautama as I begin my morning. The great teacher and the student.
We are all teachers and all students.
I recite the teachings of Buddha, as I train in my garden. The morning is hot and I find myself instantly covered in sweat as I practice my roundhouse kicks.
I take off my kimono exposing my bruised ribs and ancient scars.
Focus.
Push through the pain and move forward.
Breathe.
I breathe in the aroma of mint, lavender and lemon balm, as I wrap my hands. My knuckles throb, still swollen. Swirls of yellow, purple and blue cover my cut knuckles, marking a consequence of yesterday's training. As I train, the healing scabs on my hands rip open, causing a sting to scream in my veins.
Endurance
A small flame deep inside my heart ignites and like the Phoenix rising from the ashes, I rise. The chi life force energy explodes from my root chakra up my spine.
Empowerment
As I feel myself transformed into the Phoenix, the pain I feel transforms into deep feelings of peace and acceptance.
Metamorphosis
I am now the warrior in my garden.
No longer the gardener in their wars.
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