There is an irony that Plant Whatever Brings You Joy: Blessed Wisdom from the Garden must ultimately carry a caveat, being that as a conscious gardener we learn that our immediate landscapes, the ones we play with, plant things in and recreate, are not, as we thought, blank canvases to reconstruct to our own liking. Not really. They are pieces of something, a larger something of which we are all a part. And that as loving stewards of that reality we are rather obliged to consider what came before, as in the last several millions of years, and to consider that carefully as we make our mark upon whatever lands we now call “ours”, which, ultimately, they are not. For as we all know, and hate to consider, whatever we do will, as the sand paintings of the Tibetan monks, will slip away into another form, our dear selves included.
Meanwhile, in Plant Whatever Brings You Joy: Blessed Wisdom from the Garden, I did write about at very least leaving corners of undisturbed spaces in our gardens, honoring the unknown, so let’s begin there, shall we?
I still take pleasure in knowing this came from me at such a tender age. One could say it is rife with teenage angst, the longing of a young girl for her own space, her own ideas, her own life away from parental eyes and ears and minds and expectations. No doubt it was in part the result of being steeped in a tropical paradise, lying under huge full moons, browned by the Caribbean sun, lulled by the unstoppable crashing of large blue waves on the nearby shore, enchanted by riding horseback on the beaches, cast into a foreign culture so radically different from my New England high school!
More likely, however, another thread in my internal process is reflected in Rumi’s oft-quoted:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
For all the delving we do, for all the Inner Child work, the Shadow work, the poking around, the self discovery, there will always be, as Einstein told us, the inevitability of mystery. Sheer mystery. Try as we will, we cannot know everything. There will be more on the other side, when the veil of illusion is lifted, when we are at last home in the comfort of all that is. If Wordsworth was correct, that our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, what must death be?
I am told that in Scotland and Ireland the old farmers always leave wild and undisturbed corners in their gardens, where they sow nothing, out of respect for The Little People, to give them a place to be. What wild undisturbed corners do you leave within you or within your partner, your children, your parents, your closest friends? What is left respectfully and quietly for passive cultivation, for privacy, for the imagination, for discovery, for serendipity, for faith, for secrecy, for grace, for reverence, for the untapped, for the future, for the unknowable and the unknown?
Happy New Year, darling and beloved readers of this blog. May 2015 bring each of you abundance, beauty, good health and many new wonderful chapters in your lives!
Love and blessings,
Book News: Many thanks to those of you who purchased copies of Plant Whatever Brings You Joy as gifts for your loved ones. So appreciated!