Back and Forth to the Compost Bin

During harvest season, i make 3 or 5 trips to the compost bin every day. I actually don't mind. It doesn't feel like a chore. My 2-quart compost bucket fills up; i put on my shoes and walk out to the bin. Maybe i do this every hour before and after dinner.

Meanwhile, if i stop by a flowerbed, i fill up a 5-gallon bucket with deadheads and take that to the compost bin. Maybe i like the walk even though it's back and forth--sort of like walking meditation. Maybe i like filling up my compost bin.

A chore is something sort of unpleasant, something i need to do whether or not i want to do it. When meditation becomes a chore, it's time to lighten it up somehow. Make meditation interesting.

I love my compost. Maybe that's why taking kitchen scraps out to the compost bin is not a chore.

Labyrinth

A friend has a labyrinth in her backyard. What a great place for walking meditation.

A labyrinth leads you around and around, back and forth, sometimes nearer to your goal of the center, sometimes farther away, and then suddenly, there you are standing in the center.

The parallels to the problems of life are obvious--around and around our mind circles, sometimes going farther afield, sometimes seeming closer to a solution. Then suddenly, a solution arrives, and we are standing in a a center. We suddenly feel centered ourselves. Ah, yes. This.

Once, i was mulling over a problem, and my teacher reminded me, "It's dukkha." Ah yes. It's dukkha (suffering or stress). Just stand in the middle of that unsatisfactoriness and recognize it for what it is.

Walking Meditation on the Beach

Bill slipped while hiking in June and had emergency knee surgery. Last week, he gave his leg brace back to the orthopedic surgeon. Her prescription for him was to go walk on a beach. Walk barefoot in the sand.

So, we went to the New Hampshire beach, and then wandered down to the fishing village of Gloucester, Massachusetts. Walking to the beach there, i saw lots of Rosa rugosa, the rose that grows so prolifically in the sand. The red rosehips were ripe, so, as we walked, i picked the biggest, reddest ones and popped them in my mouth.

If rosehip tea is good for you, the actual rosehips must be even better, right?

The texture is a bit mushy, and there are a gazillion seeds, which i think of as intestinal brooms. But they are sweet, and loaded with Vitamin C.

Bill and i did our walking meditation on the beach, wonderfully barefoot in the sand.

Dried Up

The potting soil that i used in January to pot up rooted cuttings was too dry. Almost all the cuttings have dried up and died, which so disappointing that i don't even want to write about it.

Now i'm ready to plant the next round of cuttings, and i'm fretting over a potting soil recipe.

I added about 1/4 vermiculite to the last potting soil, and that was not sufficient to keep the soil damp enough. Now i've bought a bag of perlite, also for water retention, and i'm crossing my fingers that the new mixture will work.

Sometimes our meditation practice dries up. It seems like it's not going anywhere, and we lose interest. How can we retain interest in this practice that we know is good for us?

Some people switch to a different form of meditation. Some people give it up altogether. I rely on my spiritual friends to keep me in the vicinity; at least i sit for 20 minutes every day with them. I'm also signing up for a retreat because retreats usually inspire me.

It can take a bit of creativity to find the "recipe" that's right for you. Add some loving-kindness practice or some gratitude practice to get the juices flowing. Do mindful movement or walking meditation instead of sitting meditation.

The key is to bring mindfulness to this very moment. Even this very unsatisfactory moment.

Photo from livinggreenmag.com

Artificial Flowers

I attended a day-long retreat yesterday with Taraniya (Gloria Ambrosia) on the subject of clinging. The first of the 4 different forms of clinging is sensual desire.

The retreat took place at a church on a rainy day. During walking meditation in the big open multi-purpose room next to the kitchen, the end of my walking lane brought me face-to-face with a big bouquet of flowers--daffodils, lilacs and pink hydrangeas, interspersed with tulips. The arrangement was artificial, of course, as i mentally labeled the month each flower blooms--April, June, and August.

In real life, such a combination of flowers from our own garden would be impossible. A florist might do it by having access to flowers from the four corners of the globe. With artificial flowers, we can artificially arrange the world just as we like it, without the mess of water and leaves today or drooping flowers tomorrow. We can put our bouquet on automatic pilot and be pleased by its beauty for years to come.

Life is messy sometimes. This is the first noble truth. Wanting only beauty, desiring sensual pleasures is part of the second noble truth.

"So what's the harm of a few artificial flowers?" you might ask. "They're neat, clean, beautiful, and they last for years."

This is the seduction of delusion. What's the harm in that?