March Roars In

March came in like a lamb--all quiet and a little bit muddy here on our dirt road. By sundown, a lion of a cold front was blowing in. The wind sounded like a freight train. Did i hear a roar of thunder? 

The electricity went out. A tree fell down on our neighbor's line and blew the transformer. It sounded like a bomb exploding. The electricity came on and went off again. I went to sleep in the pitch black.

Dukkha--suffering, dissatisfaction, discontent--blows into our lives with unexpected force, sometimes leaving us in the darkness of depression--large or small. Dukkha is the impetus that drives us on to a spiritual path.

We learn not to respond to dukkha by roaring, but by feeling tender toward ourselves. Come on, little lamb, have a good cry if you need to. Then give yourself a hug.

Seed Shortage

When i tried to order seeds from my favorite purveyor, the website said that they only take online orders on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. One friend said she couldn't order seeds from her usual two sources because they were only selling to wholesalers. 

It's only February, and there's a seed shortage already.

I looked at my collection of seeds left over from previous years and determined what i needed. I went to the farm & garden store where I was able to buy almost (but not quite) everything on my list. Whew!

In these polarized political times, we might say there's a shortage of kindness. Yet when emergencies strike, neighbors do show kindness to neighbors.

No matter the outer conditions, we want to plant seeds of kindness--even in situations where another person is not kind to us. Striking out to defend ourselves is not good for our tender souls. The best defense is kindness. And yes, sometimes kindness is big and strong.

Labeling

I am still harvesting green beans--a basketful every day. In the midst of all that greenery, some beans have escaped my notice and become big bean-y beans; others are young and tender. No matter. I blanch and freeze both. My sweetie insists on labeling the big beans so that when he takes a bag of beans out of the freezer, he'll know what he's getting.

Labeling our meditation object is a good practice to remind ourselves what we are doing in meditation. Hearing. Hearing. Or Feeling. Feeling. Or even Seeing. Seeing. Labeling is a big help in our mindfulness practice.

I'm wondering if i can be mindful enough to pick my pole beans every day.

Loose Strife

I did find 3 weeds to pull here at the vacation house on the lake. Down on the beach, i pulled up 3 plants of the invasive purple loosestrife.

"Oh, but it's so pretty," more than one gardener has said to me. "I'll keep an eye on it."

Keep an eye on 3 million seeds per plant?

Listen to the name again, my dear: loose - strife. Strife means conflict, discord, and opposition. Why would anyone want to let strife loose in their garden?

Oh, this loose strife has such a lovely disguise. Perhaps not unlike the opinions and judgments we let loose toward friends and family. Ouch, that hurt.

"Oh, they're just a wuss if they can't take it," we rationalize.

Once we have loosed strife into the world, we are the owners of our actions. We cannot retract our words.

Our tender hearts are kind and friendly. Pull those strife-causing opinions, and don't let them go to seed.

Remember your intentions: We want to harvest calmness and happiness.

Plant Triage

Lantana smells like guava.

It's time to pot up the tender plants i have growing in my gardens that i'd like to bring inside for the winter--a flowering maple, lemon grass. lantana. Next week, begonias and geraniums.

I could call it triage. Which plants shall i save? And which shall i let perish?

It's important to triage my daily activities. Otherwise, i would be even busier than i am. Yesterday, i had to leave 3 meetings early in order to get to the next one. That is called "too busy."

I sort my activities into the most important: meditation, Dharma, Bill, writing. Then come the gardens. Whoops, exercise has to fit in here somewhere.

Triage means letting some less important things go. Often, things that seem urgent--like the phone ringing--are not really that important. Rather than answer the phone, often i prefer to listen to (or better yet, read) my voicemail.

Bringing tender plants indoors so i can tend them all winter long.

Farewell Tender Young Spring

Welcome to late spring. Cool days are wafting away in favor of heat by mid-day. The lettuce-green leaves of trees have been replaced by a hardier green. Heat-loving plants will jump this week.

Farewell to early spring and mid-spring as the sun leans toward summer.

We ourselves were tender young hearts once upon a time, prone to cry, not only when we suffered pain, but also when our feelings were hurt. Before we had words for emotions--sad, mad, scared, frustrated.

Eventually, we hardened off our feelings and stopped crying because big kids don't cry, and bigger kids didn't cry.

Our tender young heart still beats within us. Listen. Make room for those feelings to grow. Recognize the various flavors of grief, sorrow, despair, irritation, annoyance. Now we are big kids, and we have the words to express ourselves.

Sitting very still, right beside the painful feeling, so still you don't notice it, is joy. Joy is holding the hand of those painful feelings. Give joy a chance to express herself, simply by being present with what is.

Tender Sweet Freesia

Several years ago, i planted freesia bulbs in various large potted plants. Today i discovered a purple freesia blooming in the plumeria.

Freesia are so sweetly fragrant, i love their perfume. Yet, i really don't have the oomph to focus on this tender bulb, so i hid the freesia bulbs in houseplants so that they would surprise me. As they have been doing for years.

Our tender qualities of heart are sometimes hidden behind our rough exterior or the thin veneer of nice-ness we show to the world.

Let your kindness bloom today. What one thing can you do? What random act of kindness can you offer to your world? Without expecting anything in return. Without even expecting that people will like what you have done. Without even expecting that people will like you.

Reprieve

Still no frost. Frost is predicted every night this week, and still it doesn't freeze. Today feels like a reprieve from a death sentence. A rally during the death vigil. How much longer?

For death is coming to the garden. How could it not? Last evening, I made my last batch of basil pesto. The basil is gone. Well and truly gone.

But today, we have one more day, this day to enjoy the tender annuals. One more day to pick zinnia and dahlia bouquets. One more day to glean vegetables from the garden.

If you had one more day to live, how would you spend it? What would you do? How would you be?

That one day is today. This moment. Now.

Photos from williamsburgfloral.com and jackiejacobson.com