Eden May Be Lost: A Reflection on What Could Have Been
One lifetime.
That’s all we’re given to learn the great lessons of being human.
To love, to lose, to forgive, to remember,
and somehow, in all of it, to return to who we were always meant to be.
But I often wonder—
what are we truly equipped for in a single lifetime?
Because even with the depth of our souls,
this world seems to scatter our focus with distractions:
Schedules. Screens. Striving.
False ideas of success.
Busyness without stillness.
Noise that reflects nothing real.
Love without meaning.
And these distractions keep us far from the root—
the original essence—
of what life was meant to be.
When I feel lost or overwhelmed, from the heartache that the news brings of strategic things that seem to only grow so far from what humanity was meant to be.
I realign my belief to the beginning.
To God, and what He created.
A universe woven with wonder, mystery, and design—
So intentional that the stars don’t fall, and seeds still remember how to become trees.
And in this universe,
He formed a Man and a Woman—
not just bodies,
but vessels of His Love.
He placed them in a garden,
Eden—
not a myth, but a blueprint.
A space with all that was needed to survive,
and all that was required to thrive:
Harmony, beauty, truth.
Union with God.
Union with one another.
No ego. No war. No disconnection.
Only Love, as it was intended.
I sit with that.
Especially when I look around at this world we’ve made.
A world that forgets the garden, and what it was meant to hold.
Forgets what our nature is, he created the first humans in his image.
That trades Eden for control, consumption, and confusion.
A world that measures success in titles and transactions
instead of tenderness and truth.
And I can’t help but cry.
Because I feel it in my bones—
what we’ve lost.
So I bow my head,
and I ask for God’s forgiveness.
Not because I created the chaos,
but because I live in it,
and sometimes I forget the garden too.
Eden may be lost—
at least in the world we’ve created outside of it.
But in moments of stillness,
in honesty, and my belief in sacred relationships,
in art, in grief, in breath,
and in the longing to return to Gods Love,
something stirs.
Maybe it’s not lost forever.
Maybe Eden still lives inside those who remember.
How different it could have all been.
If we chose to live as if the garden was not lost
but waiting to be reclaimed—
one choice at a time.
And even now—
especially now—
I still believe in the power of Love.
Not the kind dressed in fantasy
but the kind that heals,
restores,
and remembers.
The kind that sits in the ashes
and still dares to plant a seed.
