I emailed Perennial Swappers and told them to come over and rummage through the piles of plants that used to grow on my east hillside.
Annamarie loaded up her station wagon. She was thrilled to take the spreaders for her south-facing hillside. All i saw was the amount of digging she was going to have to do, and, knowing her hillside tangle, i had my doubts.
These 2 perspectives (hers and mine) are examples of our views, and Right View is the first step on the Noble 8-fold Path.
My view that she had a LOT of work in front of her caused me dismay, and that is obviously a form of suffering. At the same time i was happy that the plants were finding a second home. This generous view causes happiness (and not suffering).
Like Annamarie, i have my own thrilling plans for my now-bare hillside. My doubt about her following through on all that planting is actually me projecting my doubts about myself onto her. (Tricky, isn't it? But how convenient!)
Yesterday i stopped at Annamarie's, and she proudly pointed out her new hillside plantings. It had taken her a couple of hours, but she did it. And it's a great view from her living room window.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Spreaders--in the Garden and in Life
I now have a hillside's worth of plants laid out on tarps in the shade. It's odd to look at 20 years worth of plants stacked up like piles of clothes at a rummage sale.
In the digging, i discovered several white plastic plant tags of plants that didn't make it. In the end, the spreaders prevailed--golden glow, spiderwort, Artemisia, evening primrose, daylilies, irises, and goatsbeard (Aruncus). I found 2 delphiniums and a puny peony. The white Echinacea never took hold.
When we look back at the fruits (or flowers) of our life, what do we see that prevailed? Material goods (e.g., "The one with the most toys wins.")? Good works? Work? Family?
And what is it that we intend?
A month before she died, my mother said, "I didn't intend for it to turn out this way, but that's the way life goes when you mistreat it." (She was an alcoholic.)
One of my intentions is to meditate for 2 or 3 hours a day, but i seldom do. I've recently made a pact with a Dharma friend to meditate 2 hours a day. This "Dharma dare" is helping me reach my goal, but it's still hard.
The spreaders in my life--the garden itself, various commitments, and just plain busy-ness--threaten to overrun my good intentions. "Later," i think. But it may be later than i think.
In the digging, i discovered several white plastic plant tags of plants that didn't make it. In the end, the spreaders prevailed--golden glow, spiderwort, Artemisia, evening primrose, daylilies, irises, and goatsbeard (Aruncus). I found 2 delphiniums and a puny peony. The white Echinacea never took hold.
When we look back at the fruits (or flowers) of our life, what do we see that prevailed? Material goods (e.g., "The one with the most toys wins.")? Good works? Work? Family?
And what is it that we intend?
A month before she died, my mother said, "I didn't intend for it to turn out this way, but that's the way life goes when you mistreat it." (She was an alcoholic.)
One of my intentions is to meditate for 2 or 3 hours a day, but i seldom do. I've recently made a pact with a Dharma friend to meditate 2 hours a day. This "Dharma dare" is helping me reach my goal, but it's still hard.
The spreaders in my life--the garden itself, various commitments, and just plain busy-ness--threaten to overrun my good intentions. "Later," i think. But it may be later than i think.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Long View
I attended a garden party on Sunday afternoon. The terrace with a 10-mile view was large enough to comfortably seat 5 conversation groups.
The long view settles us, calms us. Then our focus reverts to the people sitting near us and the conversation narrows our attention on something near, and perhaps dear. Maybe the topic pricks us ever so slightly--family or local politics--or fluffs up our ego--family or our accomplishments or one of our opinions that we are sure is correct.
The long view is the quality of equanimity that underlies our practice, the ocean of space that surrounds us. Of course, our attention focuses on some thing near, some thing recognizable, some thing that feeds our sense of self.
Yet, if we step back and take the long view, we see that even these small things are held in spaciousness.
The long view settles us, calms us. Then our focus reverts to the people sitting near us and the conversation narrows our attention on something near, and perhaps dear. Maybe the topic pricks us ever so slightly--family or local politics--or fluffs up our ego--family or our accomplishments or one of our opinions that we are sure is correct.
The long view is the quality of equanimity that underlies our practice, the ocean of space that surrounds us. Of course, our attention focuses on some thing near, some thing recognizable, some thing that feeds our sense of self.
Yet, if we step back and take the long view, we see that even these small things are held in spaciousness.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Re-Arranging a Flower Bed
I'm beginning to tear apart a flower bed. Hmm. And just as it's looking pretty good--if you think overgrown looks "good."
The slope on the east side of my house faces southeast. The snow melts there first, and it's obviously so close to the house that i want to terrace it to make a kitchen garden.
That's the vision. But first, the taking apart of what is there.
Sometimes, in our lives, we'd like to rearrange our personalities. I have a couple of friends who are pretty good at re-inventing themselves every few years.
Although we may change the outer trappings--our job, our relationships, our house, or our location--our inner habits and character have been hard-wired. Laying down new tracks requires intention, effort, and energy. Part of that effort is mindfulness.
We may have a list of quirks we'd like to weed out of our personalities--anger, stinginess, or impetuousness, for instance--and a list of traits we'd like to transplant--kindness, generosity, or mindfulness.
We begin with simple awareness. "Oh, this is what it's like." And we investigate the effects on ourselves and others. "When i'm irritable...."
I'm taking mindfulness out to the garden now to dig out plants one by one.
The slope on the east side of my house faces southeast. The snow melts there first, and it's obviously so close to the house that i want to terrace it to make a kitchen garden.
That's the vision. But first, the taking apart of what is there.
Sometimes, in our lives, we'd like to rearrange our personalities. I have a couple of friends who are pretty good at re-inventing themselves every few years.
Although we may change the outer trappings--our job, our relationships, our house, or our location--our inner habits and character have been hard-wired. Laying down new tracks requires intention, effort, and energy. Part of that effort is mindfulness.
We may have a list of quirks we'd like to weed out of our personalities--anger, stinginess, or impetuousness, for instance--and a list of traits we'd like to transplant--kindness, generosity, or mindfulness.
We begin with simple awareness. "Oh, this is what it's like." And we investigate the effects on ourselves and others. "When i'm irritable...."
I'm taking mindfulness out to the garden now to dig out plants one by one.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Self and Not-so-other
A new friend took me out her back door last evening to show me her backyard garden in town. Her lot is surprisingly deep, going back 1/3 acre to a hill. She told me the story about buying her house in a snowstorm, moving in on April Fool's day, and slowly discovering what a "park" she has behind her house.
She planted her first-ever vegetable garden. A while later she left for a couple of weeks. Returning home, she walked out to her garden and was astounded by the growth that had taken place in her absence. She said she practically leapt backwards out of her garden because she saw Life.
In that moment, that split second when she felt Life all around her, she saw that the plants are not different than her. Or, to say it another way, she is the same as the plants.
This sort of deep seeing, this "insight" can happen when the mind is content and calm. Deep seeing such as this requires a momentary stillness of mind.
We may not have directly experienced the sudden awakening of "I am that." ("And that. And that. And that too.") Most of us take a more gradual path, perhaps relying on "back-door" insights that arise from our contemplations, such as The Meditative Gardener is full of.
We already have an intuitive sense that self and other are not different. This is why the Golden Rule makes so much sense:
Our own desire to be treated well by others is why we plant seeds of kindness toward others--in our backyard gardens and in our life.
She planted her first-ever vegetable garden. A while later she left for a couple of weeks. Returning home, she walked out to her garden and was astounded by the growth that had taken place in her absence. She said she practically leapt backwards out of her garden because she saw Life.
In that moment, that split second when she felt Life all around her, she saw that the plants are not different than her. Or, to say it another way, she is the same as the plants.
This sort of deep seeing, this "insight" can happen when the mind is content and calm. Deep seeing such as this requires a momentary stillness of mind.
We may not have directly experienced the sudden awakening of "I am that." ("And that. And that. And that too.") Most of us take a more gradual path, perhaps relying on "back-door" insights that arise from our contemplations, such as The Meditative Gardener is full of.
We already have an intuitive sense that self and other are not different. This is why the Golden Rule makes so much sense:
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Or as the Buddha said:
As I am, so are others;
as others are, so am I.
Having thus identified self and others,
harm no one nor have them harmed.
as others are, so am I.
Having thus identified self and others,
harm no one nor have them harmed.
Our own desire to be treated well by others is why we plant seeds of kindness toward others--in our backyard gardens and in our life.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Garden Path
I drove my truck to a nearby sawmill yesterday to get a load of wood chips. I use wood chips for paths, and this works particularly neatly in the vegetable garden. I subscribe to the theory that repeated walking--as one does in the veggie garden--packs down the soil. So my paths in the vegetable garden remain the same year after year, between beds.
New wood chips give a fresh, clean look to the paths and keep the weeds down.
The spiritual path we are walking begins with Right View. Right View understands 2 things:
(1) You reap what you sow--in thoughts, words, and actions.
(aka karma) and
(2) The 3 characteristics of all experience.
New wood chips give a fresh, clean look to the paths and keep the weeds down.
The spiritual path we are walking begins with Right View. Right View understands 2 things:
(1) You reap what you sow--in thoughts, words, and actions.
(aka karma) and
(2) The 3 characteristics of all experience.
- The garden is ever-changing
- Discontent happens in the garden (e.g., bugs, weather, disease, and death)
- Our "garden" is a slow-moving verb, a process that flows on from moment to moment, and as such, has no inherent existence. (Don't worry if you don't understand this mind-bender. Just let it flow away. Gone!)
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
A Bear and a Problem
A black bear prowled around our house last evening, just before sunset. It smelled the birdfeeder on a second-story deck in which we keep only a handful of seeds at a time. Fortunately, it did not climb up the 10 feet to lick up a few stray sunflower seeds.
Inside the house, my sweetie was running from door to door, locking them, and closing the garage door, which leads to the trash can where we store our birdseed. The trash can protects the seed from mice, but would be easy pickings for a bear.
Sometimes our minds are grappling with a "bear" of a problem that prowls around our mind, ravenously hungry, and looking for any excuse to justify our words or actions. The "I" wants to be right, and it will toss and turn the body for hours in the middle of the night to prove its point, over and over again.
The visit from the bear encourages me to clean up my act:
(1) don't feed the birds in the summer
(2) NO meat scraps in the compost
How do we clean up our mind?
We practice compassion for ourselves and for the "bear" of a problem.
We practice kindness toward ourselves first and toward the other person.
We notice what truth feels like: There's a relaxation that goes with truth. "Ahhh. Yes."
Chances are, the bear-of-a-problem has to repeat itself over and over, in our minds, telling us again and again and asking us to believe it time and time again. (Is that the definition of propaganda?) We only need to hear truth once to "know" it's true.
When you stand--or sit--on the side of truth, the mind relaxes and becomes like a still forest pool. As Achaan Chah says, "All kinds of wild animals will come to drink there." Even a black bear.
Inside the house, my sweetie was running from door to door, locking them, and closing the garage door, which leads to the trash can where we store our birdseed. The trash can protects the seed from mice, but would be easy pickings for a bear.
Sometimes our minds are grappling with a "bear" of a problem that prowls around our mind, ravenously hungry, and looking for any excuse to justify our words or actions. The "I" wants to be right, and it will toss and turn the body for hours in the middle of the night to prove its point, over and over again.
The visit from the bear encourages me to clean up my act:
(1) don't feed the birds in the summer
(2) NO meat scraps in the compost
How do we clean up our mind?
We practice compassion for ourselves and for the "bear" of a problem.
We practice kindness toward ourselves first and toward the other person.
We notice what truth feels like: There's a relaxation that goes with truth. "Ahhh. Yes."
Chances are, the bear-of-a-problem has to repeat itself over and over, in our minds, telling us again and again and asking us to believe it time and time again. (Is that the definition of propaganda?) We only need to hear truth once to "know" it's true.
When you stand--or sit--on the side of truth, the mind relaxes and becomes like a still forest pool. As Achaan Chah says, "All kinds of wild animals will come to drink there." Even a black bear.
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