From Judith's book:
Many people have moving experiences with trees or while they work in their gardens....Rarely do people remark on the spiritual aspects of gardening [instead of]as adding to color to the landscape for instance....It is only when someone else broaches the subject of how gardening feels that others have the impetus to share their secrets. A personal experience of epiphany, about the interconnections and interdependence of all life as a living reality is a spiritual teaching. It is a gift that marks the beginning of a spiritual perspective, one that incorporates cooperation and communication between plants and humans.
Have you never put your hand on a tree trunk (especially an old fella) and thanked it for all that it gives you? You should, and furthermore you should not be ashamed to do so. Have you never told your roses especially that you will cut it in the morning, so the rosebush can prepare itself. You should - it makes the cutting easier on you and the roses. When repotting or transplanting any plant, give it 24 hours notice so that it can anesthetize itself and won't go into shock.
Keep an open mind that even on a practical level - this respect will benefit the garden. After all it's not all about us. And the "us" that stumble and stride into sacred spots like gardens without respect and ignorant of our intrusion and destruction will continue that destruction until it is all destruction. If you want to leave your children, your grandchildren, healthy gardens, a healthy food supply - begin that solitary journey of deep connection and bond with the earth. Keep a journal - yes, it's practical but it is also a deeply reverent act. They are interdependent. Try also to keep toxicity out of the garden - perhaps inconvient but frankly necessary.
Ms. Handelsman ia a former gardening columnist for Vogue and New Age Journal. She co-authored Greenworks: Tender Loving Care for Plants. She wrote Gardens from Garbage: How to Grow Indoor Plants from Recycled Kitchen Scraps, an award winning children's book. She lectures and conducts workshops and lives in Laguna Beach, California. This book, Growing Ourselves, is a sharing of her experiences with plants - with an open hand and heart.
Here are examples of her experiences with plants - some of them heartbreaking, some of them breathtaking and redemptive. I will share one of those stories here.
When she was living in New York, she had a business called Greenworks. She and a partner took care of plants in New York offices. They were asked to remove a ficus tree from a large law firm and replace it. A ficus needs light but this tree was shoved into a corner with discreet low spotlights and was dying a slow death. They struggled to put the ficus into their truck and pondered its fate. She didn't want to let it die but it would be a serious undertaking to take it home and nurture it. It was a huge plant. But her apartment had the room and the window space in the living room to heal it. She brought it home and cared for it intelligently and with love. (Think for a moment about the word "care" - and all that it implies. Do not use it carelessly.) Unfortunately, the ficus had scabs - Judith did all she could with the scabs, including toxic things, until one day she just decided to live with the scabs and hoped they would keep to a small population. They did and almost disappeared.
At the time, she and her husband were in the midst of an unhappy marriage. The ficus offered her much solace and hope. She put small nests an artist friend made on it, misted it, kept music in the room. She even made a hammock from one wall to the other under the ficus and would spend time with it in the hammock. The tree thrived - absolutely thrived.
Finally, the divorce came as she knew it would, and she had to move to a smaller apartment. She had no room for the ficus. It was like having a beloved dog she had to leave behind. However, her mother offered her refuge in her home. But first she approached the tree and spoke to it. this time out loud.
Look, you know what's going on. You live here. You probably know the story better than I do. It's time for you to move tomorrow. I'm sorry I can't keep you with me...I'm giving you to my mother because she has more space. I'll be able to visit you. Now you can be moved in peace and you will survive going into shock. Thank you for all the pleasure you gave me during our time together.
She gently touched its leaves and remained silently with the tree for a long time. Finally, some friends took her to dinner. When she went to bed that evening, she noticed a single ficus leaf on her nightstand - very green and centered - How could this be, she thought. The ficus is around the corner - 20 feet away. The windows are closed.
"Everything hit me at once. I lay on my bed, clutching the ficus leaf in my hand and I wept until I fell asleep.
*******
here is a poem from the beginning of the Ficus chapter.
We began
As a mineral. We emerged
Into Plant life
And into animal state, and then into
Being human,
And always we have forgotten
Our former states, except in early Spring when we
Slightly recall
Being green again.
Rumi, Persian mystic poet.
Love to all my friends here.
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