The Mighty Jungle....

In the jungle of my deepest thoughts, I asked the Lion, "what do I do wrong?" The Lion replied, "stop trying so hard", and strolls out of the forest. No elaboration, no additional comments; just, "stop trying so hard". I walk the jungle of my thoughts, because I don't know what this means; I can only know what it means when I say it to someone else. Is that a fair assessment of what it means when the Lion says it to me? In the jungle are no trees of confusion; no growths of differing accords; and, so I resolve to know that its bounty shall yield the very vines that choke the life from everything growing peacefully there....in the jungle of my deepest thoughts.

Had I never known a time when my jungle was lifeless, full of dried leaves and foliage that rendered my nurturing void, I would have never had cause to uproot the plants; would have never cast a shadow on the trees to hinder their growth; never drowned the wildflowers with discontent....all the portions that were my peace. But, I have; and I began to dislodge the Lion's seeds....not in my jungle.

'Stop trying so hard', says to me, "I'm in your jungle, but your trees give me too much oxygen; your jasmine and wild roses gives me headaches; and, your stream, that runs through the midst, makes me cold". I suspect the lion has found a more peaceful jungle; a jungle that he would much rather visit. So, I gather up all the branches of the trees that have since died there, and I barracade my jungle, for my own sake. I speak to the Lion; but, he's not invited in....to the jungle where my deepest thoughts lie. While he's not there, and with the wind, the leaves of my trees sing a song of wanting him; the wild blooms dance a tribute to the time when he was there, and I am summoned to the ground for sleep with the echoes of his footsteps.

Others ask of my jungle; want to know if the barracade will always be there....would I not share the beauty thereof. This jungle, is not for every would be 'lion'. This jungle is not found by the eye; but, by the soul of those who belong there. The Lion who speaks to my heart, doesn't realize that, my jungle is his haven, he sees me as vividly as God; and, all that is his being is a promise unfolding to me. Only the soul of one who is destined to be there, needs no invitation to be there....in the jungle of my deepest thoughts; just a place in his heart.

Time has no presence in this jungle; the Lion speaks to me, and bears his gifts, which are held in my jungle awaiting his return. If this is the jungle for him, he will return. Until then, I will nurture the ground with the essence of God; I will live in the bloom of His blessings, and I will rest in the shadows of His unthinkable joy.