Yes. The jiffy pots are out again. Everything seems to be moving so quickly this year already. There has been no real break in my vegetable harvests and the spring flowers are positvely radiant. It has become easier to tend to each passing day, and I find myself at peace, listening with surprise and delight to the sound of my own laughter. The world seems sharp with clarity and color and amongst it all my soul breathes softly. I feel content and open-hearted.
And then, because I am still me, I worry. About the peace and the laughter and the contentment. About losing it. About taking it for granted. I worry I might do the wrong thing at the wrong time and cause the whole world to fall apart, like a clumsy brontosaurus traipsing through Legoland. This, apparently, is called 'catastrophizing' and I'm really good at it. It's the downside of having a vast imagination capable of childlike wonderment and creativity; the ability to imagine any and every catastrophe in glorious technicolor. Go me.
So, I garden. I let nature thrive and fail and do everything inbetween that helps me keep the catastrophes limited to that patch of dirt out there. And sometimes the garden slips me little lessons, like chocolate covered valium pills that sedate me and give me visions of wisdom, making this whole living thing just a tad simpler. Like the seeds. Simple enough task for a rainy Sunday morning; measure out soil, plant seeds, water. Endlessly fuss with everytime the sunlight moves across the dining room table.
Ahhh. Seeds. Tiny promises. Minuscule hopes. Whispered wishes. They start off so small, so unbelievably humble. In the packet they will stay dormant forever, sometimes even die. You take that seed and you plant it somewhere on purpose and all of a sudden, you have changed the future. You have put a plant in a summer garden where there was none. You have put food on a plate that was empty. You have made life occupy a space that was vacant. The moment I planted those seeds this season was the moment I looked backwards in time and forwards in time and understood that what we do now, counts for everything. I can plant as many seeds as I desire on any given day. I can plant them in my heart, in my dreams - my goals, in the lives of others. Whatever I want to see grow around me begins with the smallest of actions.
I'm working on the catastrophizing. In the garden I've learned to deal with it by planting many, many things. I've also been good at accepting that death and calamity is just as much a part of nature as life and success is. That one does not erase the other.
And I've put every newly thriving thing into the care of a garden gnome. This is crucial...
One must always have a gnome on the job, 24/7. Because faith is stronger when you share it with another.
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