Grieving the Garden

I go out to the garden and wander around, clippers in hand. I walk my usual circuit, through the white garden, the bulb garden, the patio garden, toward the tiny fishpond. The flower beds have been pretty well put to bed for the winter. Maybe i find a few stalks to cut down. I feel i'm meandering aimlessly. I hang the clippers up.

I don't know what to do with myself. The feeling is a form of grief. Mild, to be sure. The usual things that provide the "juice" in my life--in this case, the garden--no longer require my attention.

The death of this year's garden may be just a little thing in the big picture, yet very instructive as i soak into the feeling of grief. Oh. This is what grief feels like.

Perhaps a little belief surfaces: "I don't want it to be like this." or "I want my garden." Soak into those feelings.

Yes, the mind already knows the futility of wanting November to be different than November ever is. The mind may think, "What a silly thing." Yet this simple experience of a mild grief gives us the opportunity to deconstruct grief and look at it, piece by piece. Sensation arises in the body. Thoughts arise in the mind. Drop into the sensation. Feel the effects of a thought in the body.

Our beautiful garden is gone. What are we going to do without it?
Our beautiful garden is gone. Whew! We don't have to work in it. Now we have a few months of vacation.

Bittersweet.