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In A Healing Place
(by Alexandra Heath - June 08, 2010)
Although I have been a life-long gardener and an ongoing spiritual practitioner, for the past month, I have done two things every day—without fail. I meditate for an hour in the morning and I go out to my garden and work. Some days I repot seedlings or weed the garden beds, or sometimes I just sit and watch the bees at work as they hurry among the flowers. Even listening to the water tumbling from bowl to bowl in the solar fountains can be enough to provide me with comfort and healing. You see, a month ago my beloved son, Josh, died in an auto accident. Days go by and I try to manage around the grief. Those of you who have lost loved ones know all about ways of coping.
Gardens have long been places of solace and healing. The plants speak to us not through our rational logical minds, but through our hearts, our feelings. Above all I have come to understand and appreciate the tremendous life force that surges through the natural world. Dried out, brown and shriveled twigs that once were a hibiscus or a Siberian pea tree (and believed to be a total loss) burst forth with new growth and bright green leaves just when youre ready to toss them in the compost heap. We humans are intricately bound to this natural cycle and participate as stewards (or defilers) of the ground we call home, whether that is a place in the country or a tiny city apartment—or as citizens of the world.
And nature gifts us with tremendous abundance and enjoyment. A single sunflower—sunny and bright on days when the clouds seem ever-present--produces hundreds of seeds to replicate itself; a poppy—always bright and cheerful—thousands. A single plant produces so many seeds that even the predations of insects and furry creatures do not diminish its ability to perpetuate itself. We are beneficiaries as well. Without plants we could not survive as a species; in fact, there would be no life at all without plants. No air, no clouds or rain, no fertile earth, no food. Our gardens are our lives and the source of nourishment for all the creatures of the earth.
Before Josh left this earth, he planted three lovely seeds—Elizabeth, Emily and Ryan—who are growing tall and straight and as beautiful as their father. And I am blessed by them. But even they are bound, as am I, to the ever-turning cycle of life. So I will watch them grow and tend my garden. I will see in my full-blown roses the undying aspect of love and in the fresh green sprouts of seedlings that surging life force that nourishes us. With an open heart—still fresh with grief—I will say:
Farewell, my son. Until we meet again.
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