A secret garden implies that you do not know what you are going to find—an enclosure hidden from view until the last moment. Open the gate and suddenly all is revealed.
—robin compton
Finding the Secret Garden
Secret gardens pop up casually in conversations in Europe. If you’re in France, someone may suggest that you ponder a big life decision in your “jardin secret.” In Italy they’ll urge you to go into your “giardino segreto” as a way to discover what you really want and feel. It’s a symbolic way of referring to that wonderful, little-known, and mysterious inner place of the soul that holds answers to who we really are and what we really desire. Rediscovering it (for it has always been there) ignites a renewed sense of excitement and childlike playfulness. The long-awaited journey starts. The synchronicities begin, and if you’re open to it, life becomes a series of adventurous, mystical, and unexpected encounters that lead you right to where you need to be.
This happened to me as I stood in the garden at a party in Grasse, the perfume capital of the world, located in the South of France. I met a perfumer with a sixth sense. “You must learn to cultivate your jardin secret,” he whispered. As a “nose,” he said that he spent most of his time in front of a thousand bottles set up to look like an organ. I’d just confessed that my French husband had moved out and I’d just left my high-paying executive job to start a new life. I admitted that despite all of the material things I owned I felt empty and longed for a more meaningful life. He said I’d find it in a secret garden.
“Un jardin secret,” I said. “Do I have one?”
“Ah,” he said with a Provençal accent and sniffed the air. “Everybody has one. The Italians have them. Americans like you must have them, too.”
“You’re not talking about a physical place,” I said.
“Mais non. It’s inside you.” He pointed at my chest.
He explained to me that secret gardens sprang up in the Dark Ages, that chaotic, war-and-plague-infested period when things could only grow hidden away behind protected walls. It was a time when political power struggles, drought, and famine left people struggling for survival. Those gardens reflected inner, sacred places of the soul. If you dare to enter inside, it’s possible to explore the spiritual realm and grow protected from the harsh eyes, criticisms, and threats of the material world. These feminine places allow intuition, dreams, and insights to come alive.
“You’ll be taking a trip soon?” he said.
“No. I hadn’t planned on it,” I said.
“But your job just ended?”
“Yes,” I said.
“When you start the journey, go see my friend.” He wrote an address on the back of his card. “He will help you discover more.”
I read the name and address aloud. “Karim. In Cairo? Cairo, France?”
His eyes sparkled. “In Egypt. He owns a boutique near the foot of the Great Pyramids of Giza. Very talented perfumer,” he said.
“I’ve always wanted to travel there,” I said. “But I can’t imagine going … especially not now.” Terrorists had attacked and killed a group of tourists only weeks before.
He listened attentively. “We’ll see,” he said.
“I’ve been looking for you,” the hostess said. She grabbed his elbow and guided him away. He turned and winked at me as he disappeared into an inner garden.
A few weeks later, when I’d forgotten about the conversation, a friend called full of excitement. “I’m going to Egypt. Want to come? Now that you’re out of your job, you’re free to roam.” Maybe most people don’t need to lose almost everything and fall into crisis to begin seeking meaning and spiritual connection, but that’s what happened to me.
“I should stay here and look for a new job,” I said.
“They gave you a good severance package. You can take a break. Come.”
I was about to say “no” when the strange secret-garden conversation popped into mind along with the perfumer’s predictions.
“I know you’ve got plenty of miles for a free ticket,” Julie said.
“Do you know any noses in Grasse?” I felt perplexed. “Did you tell anyone?” My business experience and practical side made me skeptical of clairvoyants or things that couldn’t be explained with reason and deduction.
“I didn’t know I was going until yesterday. What’s a ‘nose’ anyway?”
“Oh, someone who creates perfumes.”
On the plane, I fished out the card with the perfumer’s name on it. “This man, Angelo, gave me his friend’s name. Just in case I traveled to Cairo. I thought he was mad,” I said.
“Not mad, but psychic maybe. There are no coincidences, you know,” she said.
I looked at her, surprised. “Really? Do you know anything about secret gardens?” The engine droned and the puffy clouds vibrated with light beyond the oval window.
“The French talk about them. It’s a symbol, I guess,” she said.
“They used to exist as real gardens and some still do. But what do you mean by a symbol?”
“Let me see.” She bit the tip of her pen and reflected. “It’s something in here that connects you to the soul.” She pointed to her chest. “A place separated from the usual world. Protected. Things can grow here in secret and become healthy and whole without anyone interfering.”
“I think you must have one,” I said, surprised. She laughed and went back to doing her crossword puzzle. “I don’t think I do,” I said sadly. “I feel pretty empty.”
“I’m sure you’ve got one, too. Just close your eyes and imagine what it looks like,” she said.
The prospects seemed confusing and exciting—a new place to explore, a new frontier, a new territory to map. That night at the hotel my secret garden appeared in a dream. I sat in a golden desert. Dunes rolled out like waves. Not a single plant grew. No trees. No flowers, no bees or birds. My heart felt arid and as dry as the parched land. If some divine essence thrived, somewhere inside me, it seemed buried beneath layers of sand. I awoke and strolled out into the hotel courtyard.
The pyramids loomed up the hill with the moon rising over the desert. This place knew the subtle power of dreams. The regal sphinx once stood nearly entirely covered with sand until Tuthmosis met the sun god in a dream and promised that if he would uncover it he would become pharaoh. He acted on his dream guidance and later reigned over Egypt. It’s time for me to pay attention to dreams too, I thought. I walked to the top of the hill to the base of the Great Pyramid, and sand rolled on for miles. Out there somewhere in the distance grew a lush oasis, a secret garden in the desert.
At the end of the next day, after viewing Tutankhamen’s gold mask, the scribe, and Pharaoh Akhenaten with the sun god in Cairo’s Egyptian Museum, I asked the taxi driver to take me to the perfume shop. Julie worked on assignment while I set my own pace. From the outside, the boutique barely revealed its inner identity. Behind the stucco walls hid a refined, elegant showroom decorated with precious silk rugs, oriental carved wood, and mirrors behind rows of filigree hand-blown glass bottles. Light glimmered delicately across the gold-lined bottles of precious oils.
I handed Angelo’s card to the dark-eyed man at the counter. “I’d like to meet Karim,” I said.
“Wait here,” he said.
In an instant, I felt a presence near my back and turned. A tall, elegant man extended his hand. “I’m Karim. Please step inside.” He led me into a corner just out of view, to a thickly cushioned bench. “Sit, please. Will you have some hibiscus tea?”
Unaccustomed to such hospitality in a boutique, I stuttered. “Yyy … yes, please.” He called out the order in Arabic to a teenaged kid. With my American, get-to-the-point mentality, I didn’t want to waste time sitting down. I expected to try the perfumes and get on with the next task. But Karim (and the journey) imposed another rhythm. He puffed at a cigarette of black tobacco in a slow, even pace. He intended, it seemed, to create a bond and build trust before getting down to business. The teenager brought the red tea in a glass rimmed with gold. Karim wore a brown tailored shirt with short sleeves. His almond-shaped eyes glittered with an otherworldly light. From the small wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, I judged he must be about thirty-five. He handed me the tea, and I sat in uncomfortable silence until he breathed deeply and cleared his throat. “You live in France?”
I nodded. “I love it there.”
“But you’re American.” He half-closed his eyes as if reading from an inner bulletin board. “You have no children and are going through a period of transition.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. How did he know? The nose in Grasse must have told him, I thought. I uncrossed my arms and started to relax when I realized that I hadn’t talked to the perfumer about children. My body stiffened. “You are uncomfortable?” Karim said.
“No, I’m fine,” I lied, and he probably knew that too.
“You’ve had a year filled with loss and grief. Your heart’s broken. On the outside your marriage looked fine, but inside you had no love.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. “Stop,” I wanted to say, but he continued. “I see this kind of reading is new to you. But you’re one of us,” he said.
Did he mean I could read from some inner book of
people’s lives, too? Karim continued. He knew about my worst childhood experiences, as if we had grown up together, and sensed the pain beneath my tough façade. I couldn’t reason out how he knew. He spoke to the teenager, who arrived now with a tray of delicate hand-blown bottles and set them on the small table between us before disappearing behind a beaded curtain.
Karim seemed to sense my question, and he lifted the long stopper of a bottle and waved it in the warm air. A ceiling fan diffused the sweet, honeysuckle scent. “This is like your thoughts and feelings. They fill the air like this.” He pointed to the invisible scent of flowers and spice that I could smell but not see. “You carry them in a cloud. All you need is a highly developed sense and to open doors of perception to sense it. But.” He paused and looked at me intently. A little smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Most people are anosmic. You know what that means?”
I shook my head no and sipped the red tea; the sweet-tart taste of the hibiscus flower mixed with honey lit up my mouth with pleasure.
“They have no sense of smell. They do not have this sense of perception and since they do not experience it, they do not believe it exists. But you do.” He let the words sink in. I do? I thought. I can’t read people like that. “You are searching for something?” he continued.
Keep it businesslike and answer his question. “A perfume like Guerlain’s Bagatelle would be nice. It’s a floral scent. My favorite,” I said. “Bagatelle in French means a trivial thing. A small thing,” I said.
“But what you are searching for is not trivial. Come,” he said and stood.
I hesitated, not knowing how far to trust him, but something whispered from my heart that it was okay. He took a key, opened a decorative iron gate, and stepped outdoors. A terrace garden with a fountain shaded by jasmine opened up like a small oasis. Papyrus grew and lotus flowers bloomed, sharing their sweet fragrance. The gurgling water mesmerized me as it flowed up from beneath the desert in a continual stream. Beautiful blue-tiled mosaics of the moon and stars decorated the walls.
“A secret garden!” I said. I felt fascinated by the synchronicity. “Is that aloe?”
“Yes, and hibiscus, Egyptian lupine.” He pointed to the plants. “We have a long history of using plants to heal.” The garden represents the paradise within, he explained. “You’ll find yours, too, and be very happy. But you must find and plant a missing seed and cultivate it carefully.”
“I’m not good at symbolic language,” I said. “Say it straight.”
“Your crises come from lack of self-love. Grow that seed of love and your world will blossom. That will heal your heart.”
Yes, I wanted to say. I’ve yearned for love, the unconditional kind, for a long time and often mistaken lust and romance for love. But the unconditional kind held a divine mystery. I longed for it, imagined it, and yet didn’t know how or where to find it. He said that it could be found and cultivated inside my secret garden of the soul.
“You are taking a trip up the Nile soon?” he said.
“Tomorrow.”
“You have hard work to do. Your mind is making you very tired.” He pointed to my head. “Why so much worry? It changes nothing.” He held his huge dark eyes half-open like the Buddha’s.
I shrugged.
“You have been looking in the wrong places,” he said. “A mate and beautiful things will not bring real love and happiness. It’s all inside.”
He was right. I’d expected my husband to be the source of happiness, but the relationship turned dry and empty. The international business job had been an exciting challenge at first but also lost its appeal. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. Before leaving the Riviera, I’d been at a crossroads. Would I return to another executive job and continue climbing the corporate ladder or follow my soul’s urge and do what I’d always dreamed of and write? The alternative, to forge a new way, seemed to have no maps or guides. It meant moving into unknown territory, befriending my intuition, and trusting that still, quiet inner voice of the soul for guidance. Turning toward that solitary and more difficult path seemed like an important but challenging and somewhat scary adventure.
We lingered in the silence a moment and then returned indoors. Karim presented the oils to me one by one. “I like sandalwood, red amber, and the Egyptian jasmine,” I said.
He handed me one final bottle to try. “Sublime,” I said, closing my eyes to take it in. Tears welled up. “I love it. What’s it called?” More than a scent, it felt like a state of being. A top note of harmony. The heart note was one of peace. The base note felt like awareness as much as it could be captured in scent. It seemed so familiar and yet, like the perfume disappearing in the air, just out of grasp.
“It’s called Ananda,” he said. “Ananda means bliss.”
“I love that one!” I said, and a subtle sensation of joy filled me.
He put the bottle back on the silver tray. “This is what you find deep in that sacred inner place. When you find it and carry it with you everywhere, then you’ll know you’ve arrived at the destination.” He pointed to my heart, and I felt in my cells, bones, and all of my being that he must be right. His teenaged assistant packaged the bottles, including a small bottle of Ananda, and took my money. Karim escorted me to the door and held out his hand. “If I can be of service …”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m grateful.” But my emotions mixed between feeling grateful, awed, a little invaded, and also infatuated by the handsome stranger. He lifted his hand in a slight wave as I stepped across the threshold back into the setting Egyptian sun.
Later, staring out at the brown Nile waters from my cabin on the boat, the encounter played through my mind. Karim read hearts like others read books. He knew things about me that I could hardly admit to myself. He surely perceived my ugly thoughts along with the good ones. He could only do that through love, I decided. And it takes a lot of love to see someone unmasked and accept them. I longed for someone to love me like that. But first I needed to learn to love myself and give that love to others. Karim’s unusual gift of clairvoyance added a new dimension to my explorations. He revealed a level of connection to humanity that both frightened and intrigued me.
The churning paddle wheel of the boat on the Nile and long hours on the water provided ample opportunity to take the seed of love Karim had offered and begin to plant it in my secret garden. I closed my eyes and imagined what the seed of love looked like. Small like a pomegranate tree seed, it held the power to grow into a strong tree that could bear a lot of fruit to share with others. The paddle wheel's hypnotic rhythm invited a deeper journey inside. Turning the focus inward, I slipped into a reverie. Inside, dunes appeared in my heart again, but beyond the dry sand I saw a gate and pushed it open.
An overgrown path led into an uncultivated, weedy place. Inside I found an empty reflecting pool, a deep well, and a temple in ruins. Some rosemary, thyme, and an untended rose bush grew by the well where a small patch of earth had once been cultivated as a healing herb garden. Here, I found a rusty spade and began to dig and dig, ripping out weeds and broken glass. The earth smelled rich, dark, and damp, almost sweet and full of potential. I took the tiny seed of love and planted it carefully underground and watered it with a bucket of fresh water from the deep well. In my mind’s eye, I marked the spot with a stick and now needed patience.
With the smallest amount of water, a desert comes to life in a quick, furious frenzy. I scheduled regular moments to go inside and tend this inner garden during the trip. The work consisted of regular periods of meditation, self-inquiry, and reflection on grief and loss. In the silence, a tiny seed of love and another of peace sprouted and took root. During the day, when I ventured out onto the boat’s deck with a few passengers or traveled out to the crocodile temple and bartered with merchants, I’d think of the love growing in my heart and bring that into my words and actions.
During the next scheduled rendezvous with my secret garden, I imagined what the tree of love would look like in full bloom and how my garden would appear after a year or two of care. Wise gardeners anticipate what their gardens will look like decades into the future. In my future landscape, a cascade flowed clear and pure. A still reflecting pool filled with koi mirrored the azure sky. Tiny orchids; huge, multicolored camellias; and magnolia flowers blossomed. Cherry blossoms drifted on the breeze and decorated the path. I saw landscapes, including rocks and mountains, seas and plains. The walls had fallen, and I invited people to take healing herbs and consume the fruits from the large tree that looked like pomegranates. My garden contained its own unique template for perfection. I simply needed to grow into it. By fertilizing and cultivating the inner landscape, I sensed, this would also create a serene environment around me, where the inner and outer would eventually converge, one reflecting the other, and bring wholeness to heal this empty, broken heart.
Visualizing Your Secret Garden
Everyone, I believe, has a secret garden. Most of us don’t realize it until we imagine it. Using guided visualization activates the imagination and opens up the dialogue with your psyche, your soul-Self. It’s a form of dreaming while awake. The soul communicates using a subtle language of images and scenes and often reveals surprising and delightful things. To anchor subtle impressions from the psyche or imagination, they need to be captured or materialized in writing and images. To begin this experience, prepare a notebook and pen or a recording device to record your impressions once you finish. It’s ideal to keep a box of crayons, colored pencils, or collage materials at hand, too. You may want to have a friend read the following visualization to you or record it in your own voice and play it as you sit back and relax.
Find a comfortable, quiet place where you’ll not be disturbed for about twenty minutes. This will be a time to relax and attend only to yourself. Begin with some relaxing breaths. Breathe in love and light, and when you breathe out, let go of all of the tensions, anxieties, and concerns of the day. Breathe in again and let go of the tension in your jaws, shoulders, hips, and anywhere else. As you exhale, allow the tension to release.
Close your eyes and imagine walking down a cobblestone street. Feel the uneven stones underfoot. The sun’s rays warm your shoulders, and a gentle breeze caresses your face. In the distance a gurgling creek runs through a field, and a wooden bridge arches over it. Cross over the bridge and continue to follow the path. Up ahead you see a gate. This is the entrance to your secret garden. Find the key in your pocket and open the gate. Cross over the threshold. As you enter into your sacred space, notice the colors, the smells, and the spaces around you. Is it light? Do you notice the plants? Do you see any buildings or people?
Continue walking and move toward the center of your secret garden. It may contain a fountain, a waterfall, a pool, or something else. Explore some more until you find the most sacred place. Is it a temple, a protected house, or a grove of ancient trees? Make an offering of gratitude to your garden for receiving you. The gift you give may be a word of thanks, a flower, or something you value. Open your hands and heart and in return receive whatever messages or objects may be given to you to help you in your explorations. Feel the peace and the silence in this inner place. Linger here for a moment and enjoy your secret garden.
When you’re ready, take with you what you need. Return to the threshold of your sacred space. Notice any last details that attract your attention. Pay attention to how your body, mind, and spirit feel as you linger here. When you arrive at the gate, take one last look around, then step out and close it. Remember that you can return whenever you like. Walk gently down the path. Return back over the arched bridge that goes over the creek, back down to the cobblestone street, and back to where you initially left from. When you’re ready, open your eyes.
Take a moment to record what you experienced. Describe what you saw, how you felt, and who, if anyone, you met. Did you receive a gift or a message? Capture the feelings in writing or use a recording device and speak into it. To cultivate the language of symbols more deeply, you may want to draw, paint, or make a collage of your secret garden. Search the Internet to come up with specific images if you have them in mind. Let the scene take shape naturally as you work with it. Once you finish, you may want to keep the image in a place where you will see it often.
Synchronicity and Paying
Attention to Signs
When you commit to a spiritual journey like exploring your inner secret garden of the soul, very often the world around will conspire to help. Events may arise. People you think of may appear unexpectedly. Someone says exactly what you need to hear or you may see a scene or images during the day that recall a dream you had the night before. These magical synchronicities bring messages and signs that the universe is dancing with us. Encounters with the perfumer and Karim arrived in my life at a moment of serious soul-searching about what directions to take and lit the way with clues of what was to come. As you set out on this mystical adventure to discover the deeper places of your soul, pay attention to the synchronicities and signs along your path. You may want to keep a notebook as a way to keep track of your synchronistic experiences.