April 24th, 2021
In the garden, I found my heart
I've been spending a lot of time out in my veggie garden of late. Whilst it feels such slow progress at times, looking back at photos from a year ago, I was mainly battling with weeds and blackberries. It's so good to now have a patch that's rabbit-proof and gives me fresh organic greens to add to my meals. I've developed a new-found respect for producers of organic food and people who are on the self-sufficiency path. I'm nowhere near being able to feed myself purely from what I grow. (I let that lofty ideal go once I realised how much time and energy that would take!) The gardening does however get me spending more time outdoors, even in Winter. Whenever I'm in the garden, the wisdom of nature speaks to my life. The patience required for new things to grow, the unexpected set-backs you never plan for and the constant reminder that everything has it's season. It's easy to be hard on yourself and feel like progress is slow, whether it's on your healing journey or desiring certain outcomes in your life. Not to mention the need to know when it's something that's very difficult to know - perhaps impossible to know... at least at this time... I'd love to share a little personal story with you that comes to mind. After I finished studying kinesiology I went to Myanmar for a 2 month silent meditation retreat. Everyone had a task assigned to them which was to be their responsibility for the duration of the retreat. I was given the task of tending to the ornamental garden at the entrance of the meditation hall. Every morning after breakfast I spent 45 mins weeding, watering and trimming the garden. One day, water restrictions were announced, which meant I couldn't water the garden. As the restrictions continued I became worried the plants would die and I would be the one responsible. I spoke to someone about it and they suggested if the stress was affecting my meditation, perhaps I should change tasks. That day in meditation I had a vision. The vision was of a dry garden bed. There was a bridge running over the garden and a monk-like character slowly walked over the bridge with a bucket, paused in the centre and poured the contents of the bucket down into the garden. What flowed out of the bucket was light. Then appeared an image of the dry ground cover in the garden bed, growing lush and green, as you might see with sped up time-lapse photography. I was surprised and moved at what I saw. From then on, I carried a trust within me, that all would be well. I stopped worrying and had the understanding that even though I couldn't give the garden water, I could tend to it with love. So I did. I poured my heart into that patch of garden and instead of a duty it became a delightful meditation. Eventually the water restrictions eased and by the end of the retreat it was in fact lush and green, just like in the vision. We often get caught up in future worries and what the outcome will be and forget that it is more about the process. Can we tend to the stuff of life with presence and love? Can we learn to trust a little more, that things may just work out well in the end? Even if the plants had died in my story, it wouldn't change the more important fact, that in the garden, I found my heart. I hope there's something here in this story for you.