Deep rooted in the earth. They had time to spread out, under the earth, that they are power and support to the germinating trunk, there, on the outer wall of my castle, deeply rooted, that they can rise, expand, drive their trunk and grow, leaning against the wall, farther and farther up to the highest pinnacle, covering everything with its grace. Leaf joins leaf, and in between, at first hidden, indistinguishable from the color of the leaves, the tender buds. Not long and they leave, showing themselves in rich purple, the world and the one who has eyes to see. Held up by the roots and nestling against the sturdy wall, they can dare to rise, conquer the room, gently caressing it. They do not grow up with hard power, but with the quiet, gentle of life. On and on.
Deeply rooted in the trust that there are people who reach out to me, trusting in myself, in what is home to me, who is my home. Over the years, I gradually gained moments that made my roots grow, that gave me confidence, that made me breathe and showed me how wonderful it is, this life.
You are the hold on which I can grow. Gently I wrap you around with my tendrils, slowly and sustainably. If you do not want it, then it is easy for you to bend them down, but you can never reach the roots, damaging, because they meander in the rich humus of the original trust, in the womb of life, in the opening of the Ur -Mother. Again, and again they will regrow, continue to grow. Nevertheless, yes, despite, if need be, I extend my arms, grow away, out into the freedom of possibilities, growing in the encounter with you, in the uniqueness and freedom, growing in the certainty of the protector, that does not take me because it was always there.
Deeply rooted in life that opens to me because I open myself to accept it and amaze it. To forgive and to give as I was forgiven and given. Wax away and under the warmth of your attention, your speech unfolds me, radiant as the young flowers. Hungry, insatiable after this, your affection and speech, which nourishes me and keeps me growing, so that even the stars seem tangible.
Deeply rooted in the hope that you will continue to support me and hold me, and yet, if it were not so, if you cut off my branches and flowers and leaves to the last stump, the roots remain firmly anchored. Maybe I have to recover first, recovered from the pain. No, certainly I must recover, convalesce, but it passes, the pain will subside, because life itself drives me to grow and become again. My roots, you cannot touch them. You have no influence on that, as they spring from life itself.