She speaks to me in Roses...

It’s a Saturday morning. A chink of light beckons to me through the edge of the blinds. This is one of the only days of the week that I have the option of greeting the sun on an early morning walk.

Often my body feels heavy and achey in the mornings, too tired to pull myself out of bed. Like an internal rust has taken hold after a night of uncomfortable sleep as my body has tried, once again, to contort itself in shapes around my youngest daughter.

I simultaneously long for her soft warm body next to mine as I sleep, and yet also crave the freedom to stretch out in delicious spaciousness. I am not sure what it would feel like to awaken alone anymore. I don’t know that I am ready to find out yet.

But today my body feels alive, and the brightness of a May morning calls to me in a sweet, sweet whisper. The realms outside my window are awakening, and so something is stirring in me.

This week in my therapy session I spoke to my therapist about the wild rose. I hadn’t seen one at the time… but I pictured her weaving a beautiful web around my body in place of the barbed wire fence that is slowly beginning to break down as I deepen in my own healing.

And yesterday I walked around my garden and noticed some of the velvety soft, sugary peach roses at the back of my home had blossomed open while my pale pink birthday rose — gifted by a dear friend in my 40th year — had unveiled her first multi-layered flower. Pressing my nose to her petals this one’s scent is intoxicating and transports me.

The rose has been speaking to me all week

I glance behind me as I walk down my front path to greet this new day, turning to blow a kiss to my 3 year old as she waves with her face pressed up towards the window pane. My eye is caught by the deep red glimmer of the rose that climbs towards my front door. This home is full of rose medicine…

I remember the moment our home spoke to me, almost 6 years ago now. We were amongst the first people to start viewing houses during the pandemic. The moment we parked on the drive and I saw the rose bushes framing the garden path I knew that it was ours. One day I hope to name it ‘Rose Cottage’.

On this new day, as I place one foot in front of the other, watching the soft haze of a light mist rise up from the ground, I can see that the hedgerows seem to have exploded over night. Every year I am amazed and surprised at the speed in which nature shifts and changes, especially after the quiet phases of winter.

The frothy paisley patterns of cow parsley now adorn the pathways, creeping towards me as I walk, tickling my body as I brush past them. Cow Parsley will forever remind me of horse riding in my younger years, stopping to let my pony snatch a mouthful before continuing our ride with a bunch of the green and white blossoms sticking out of the edges of his mouth. A thought that makes me smile as I write and read these words.

Some of the elderflowers have come out, I gently clasp a tantalising bunch of the pretty white flowers in my hands and breathe them in. Instantly transported to balmy summer days and remembering fondly last year when I made my first batch of cordial with my eldest daughter.

The lake beckons me today. I need to see the reflections of vast sky in the water.

aSome days it is the fields, some days it is the hills, some days it is the woods… I am lucky enough to usually be able to experience all of these in one walk, but today it is the water that is speaking to me strongest.

The stillness and smoothness of the water today brought calm that I didn’t know I needed to my spirit.

Once my thirst for the water is quenched, my walk continues, along the cracked paths round fields that are crying out for moisture already. Meandering gently along the open paths where the sun is already beaming warmly.

A warmth I have longed for all winter.

I then step into the coolness of the woods, another transition to different lands, and am greeted by the strong aroma of wild garlic and bluebells coming towards the end of their days.

I am in awe of the sight of light beams peeping through the trees and the delicate shimmer that touches the woodland floor.

It is all just so… alive.

Climbing up the last hill before I rejoin the world and head home, I voice note a friend before stopping at the top to sit on a perfectly positioned bench and finish my conversation with her.

Sitting there, taking that pause, is when I see her. The pastel pink petals emerging between lush green leaves that are intertwined with hawthorn. My body fizzes and excitement rises.

The Wild Rose… my first glance of her this season.

Instantly I have access to a childlike quality of wonder and something awakens within me. Something that has been gently simmering away within suddenly bursts forth. A piece of me comes to life.

I can’t really put into words exactly what that felt sense is, but the closest way to describe it is… magic.

To the ancient part.
The softest part.
The part that knows how to protect her boundaries, and yet is also unafraid to drink what she needs from the earth to nourish her, roots first.

She speaks to me in roses

The wisest part.
The wildest part.
The part that communicates through the language of beauty — but not the aesthetic kind of beauty we have been taught to chase — the kind of beauty that is raw and unkempt. The beauty that we feel way before we see.

She speaks to me in roses

The Mother part.
The messy part.
The part that lives in seasons and cycles, trusting intimately in both death and decay as well as blossom and bloom.

She speaks to me in roses

The fearful part.
The furious part.
The part that is unafraid to show her jagged edges — unapologetic for the petals that have torn in the wind or been bashed by the rain.

She speaks to me in roses

The patient part.
The quiet part.
The part that knows there is a time to be seen and a time to be dormant, a time to dance on a summer breeze, and a time to cocoon in the nourishing chambers of the darker seasons.

She speaks to me in roses.

If you would like a practice to sink into during this season of the rose, I have removed the paywall on my Wild Rose Yoga Nidra for a limited time. Let the loving arms of rest hold you dear one. Access it here.

Until next time, go gently,

Love

Lauren

xxx

If something has stirred within you as you read my words, I would love to invite you a little further into my world.

I am Lauren — mother, business mentor, website artist, human design guide, writer, sacred space holder and multi-faceted creative alchemist. The thread running through everything I do is this… creating powerful yet nurturing containers for women to remember and rise into their own unique medicine.

To explore the fuller landscape of my heart work, come find me at www.laurenbarber.co. There you will find a portal of offerings for the mystics, the dreamers, the visionaries, the mothers, the healers and the heart-centred human beings.

And if you are a woman weaving soul into the way you work and lead, my Sacred Business newsletter is a quieter, deeper conversation. Step gently in through my free Gateway experience here.

I am so honoured to hold you here. x