postcards from nowhere

Greetings!

My compost bucket on the counter had reached overflow, so I made the trip
out to the compost pile today.  On the way I had a sudden, shocking 
impulse to weed my garden.  Shocking because I thought I had given up 
on weeding for this year.  Things were so overgrown that  I was just 
going to research recipes for cooking wild edibles instead.  I know I 
still have some of those cookbooks from my back-to-the-land phase 
somewhere!  As I recall purslaine and dandelions are quite nutritious.  
I wonder about crabgrass and bindweed?

Anyway, on the spot, skirt and all, I dropped to a crouch and started 
pulling.  I have to act immediately on these impulses, because if I went 
into the house to change clothes something would distract me and it could
be weeks before the impulse returns.  I had a wonderful time.  Gardening
is kind of like cleaning for me (see postcard #2), if it's not too hot 
or too buggy. Something primal about digging in the dirt.

As I was yanking out some bindweed, I had a flashback.  I'm a read-a-holic
 . . . if there is only one thing around with words on it I will read it 
over and over again, even if it's a cereal box.  When I was a kid my Aunt
Ange had a Flavia plaque on her kitchen wall above the sink.  I read it 
over and over while doing the dishes.   It was yellow with this cute 
drawing of a kid holding a dandelion.  As I recall it said, "Once in a 
golden hour, I cast to earth a seed.  Up there came a flower, the people 
said, a weed."  

What is interesting to me about weeding is that we are pulling out 
perfectly healthy plants who have committed the crime of growing where 
we did not plan for them to be.  The sun doesn't care, it shines equally
on all.  The rain doesn't care, it falls equally on all.  The soil 
doesn't care, it offers nourishment to all.  It is the gardener who 
plays judge, jury and executioner.  The gardener decides which plants 
are useful enough, valuable enough, to live in that particular patch of 
cultivated earth. 

Such a power trip!  In my little 10x10 garden, I was the supreme ruler. 
As I was releasing the weeds from the bondage of their physical existence,
I wondered where else in life I have that kind of power.  It felt kind 
of familiar.  Maybe I was just born to rule?  

And then it came to me. There is another place where I decide what gets 
a chance to grow and what doesn't.  In the fertile ground of my 
personality.  When we are born we are like an uncultivated patch of 
earth.  All things growing with an equal opportunity to thrive.  As we 
grow, parental and cultural disapproval teach us that parts of our 
natural selves are weeds.  

Our natural urge to explore becomes a weed when we try to explore the 
bookshelves by taking all the books out and climbing to the ceiling.  
Our artistic impulses become weeds when we draw on the wall with our 
crayons.  The interesting byproducts in our diapers become weeds when 
they are held at arm's length with disgust by someone we love and trust.
We quickly learn to deny parts of ourselves rather than risk 
disapproval or being deprived of love.

So the classification begins. Certain behaviors and attitudes bring more
love and attention, and others send it away.  It's no one's fault, just 
the reality of the time and culture we were born into.  The Toltecs 
(keepers of wisdom in ancient Mexico and South America) call it 
domestication.  Standard operating procedure in the rearing of young 
humans in the civilized world.

But then we grow up.  Still the needs for love and approval are strong.  
And still there are parts of us that we call weeds.  Domestication has 
not pulled the root.  The inner weeds grow back like dandelions.  They 
require constant maintenance, constant vigilance.  Lots of energy goes 
into making sure those weeds don't rear their ugly heads.

Why can't our culture's sharpest tools (shame, ridicule and punishment) 
eradicate the root?  I like to think there is a greater wisdom operating 
in the garden.  One that recognizes that weeds are simply healthy plants 
growing in the wrong place.  Or as I heard in one of my first coaching 
classes -- a weakness is simply a strength in the wrong context.

As adults faced with persistent weed regrowth, we have an opportunity.   
The creative ability that we buried after we got spanked for drawing on 
the walls is not dead.  That root could be transplanted, maybe onto a 
canvas, and it would no longer be a weed.

Think about how much energy would be freed up if we relocated our weeds 
to an appropriate place and just let them grow.   When they are large 
enough to bloom we may find that the flower is quite beautiful. They 
may even bear nourishing and tasty fruit for us!   

I recently enjoyed a fantastic book on this subject called The Dark 
Side of the Light Chasers by Debbie Ford.  In it she offers an example
of a woman who gave extravagant gifts all the time in an attempt to 
trample any tendency towards being cheap that she may have picked up 
from her father.  When she was able to see that she was overcompensating 
for fear of being just like him, she realized that she had  also denied 
herself the gift in cheapness.  Her father had been an excellent saver 
and planned very well for his retirement . . . an important task that 
she had avoided doing  for herself.  So she stopped calling the plant 
cheap,  and started calling it financially responsible.  Same plant, 
different label, different perspective.

How about that impulse to beat up on your siblings?  Could it be 
transplanted and provide the energy needed to fight injustice in our 
world?  Yelling in the house . . .  how about on the stage instead?  
It's kind of fun once you get going with it.  The possibilities are 
endless.  It takes some time and creative thought, but I have yet to 
uncover a buried quality that could not be turned into an asset somehow.
If you hit a tough one, give me a call and we'll work on it together. 

In the meantime, I'll be kicking back with a yellow and mellow glass of 
dandelion wine and searching my cookbooks for a recipe using crabgrass.  
Anyone have any ideas?


Blessings,

Karen


p.s.  I'm a personal coach. I work by telephone and offer a free 
get-acquainted coaching session.  Contact me if you'd like help weeding 
your inner garden!