A sense
That we’ve done all this before.
But not in ways
We might have imagined.
You’re never not with me.
I feel your gentle heart
Inside the dark, warm water,
Above the trees in flight
And in these ridiculously
Inadequate words
That land
In the middle of the night.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 1/30/12}
I enjoy visiting large-scale, manicured gardens for the sheer enormity of them. They are the Disneylands of the plant world. But what’s most interesting to me are the little back roads gardens that most people don’t even know about, especially ones where food is grown.
I love community gardens. They are jewel boxes, tiny tapestries. Each little compartment comes together in its own way, and is indicative of its owner. Some people are meticulous about rows and spacing, some people grow a wild mass and just let it come together as it pleases. I like to see the less ‘perfect’ or showy parts, which to me are equally interesting and endearing. They remind me of all the disparate parts inside of ourselves that come together to make something really pretty and unique, something that perhaps isn’t planned, but is no less magnificent.
Yesterday we had the pleasure of making a day trip to Santa Barbara, the only city I’d leave LA for. Sea air, open sky, warm sun shining down, olive trees, small streets, aloes, citrus, eucalyptus. Pure heaven. We went up to visit my college roommate, and the top of my to-do list (besides the Nordstrom’s shoe department) was to visit the garden plot she tends with her husband. It’s hard to believe, but they pay just $5 a month for a 20 by 10 foot plot.
The sun was shining down making everything glow. So simple, so beautiful! I am most at Home, and always revived, in this type of beautiful natural space.
With my friend (I'm on the right)
When I’m old
And frail
And fading
Between worlds
I hope you’ll remember me
And this brief time
We were gifted:
The love you needed,
The love
I needed to give.
A garden has grown
Where before
There was only sun and soil and sky.
There is harvest and abundance
On the horizon.
I know,
Soon enough
You’ll taste it.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 1/29/12}
I am a garden girl at heart. Yes, I very much like to get dressed up and go out wearing something bright or sparkly. But I’m most myself amongst the plants, hair pulled back, wielding a pick axe. There is just something so divine about getting lost in that timeless space, covered head to toe in soil: sweaty, smelly and totally blissful.
My son and I were lucky enough to enjoy that type of morning yesterday. My husband had to work so we visited a nearby plant nursery and spent the best three dollars imaginable on a six-pack of strawberries. We spent a few hours in the front and back yards digging, weeding and ultimately planting our little sweet gems. There is nothing like seeing your seven-year-old son humming and singing as he throws dirt around and tells stories only a child can come up with (there’s also nothing like seeing your two hound dogs digging up the garden bed you’ve just planted – but that’s a different story).
We each have our place where we feel most at home. If you’re lucky you know what it is, and if you’re even luckier, you make the time to go there. It could be the mountains or the water, maybe even the middle of a busy city.
I know that I will blink my eyes and my son will be all grown up, moving out, creating a life of his own. He won’t be flinging dirt around (unless he turns out like me), because he’ll have his own path to carve. But that little boy will always be with me, in a garden somewhere, in the soil that’s still stuck under my fingernails, which I’m not so quick to wash away.
Like mother...
....like son.
She's cute until she's digging up your plants
It’s starting to rise up again. The night air here in Los Angeles is warm and flowing. No clouds, clear sky, and a bright crescent moon that looks like it’s smiling down on us.
But I’m not just talking about the weather.
There is an energy pulsing right now that I can feel in the back of my throat. It’s making me dizzy, like a swarm of bees zig zagging around me, causing me to dance and sway. I feel physically off balance, and yet clear and grounded as ever.
I’m quite sure I’m not the only one feeling this.
The synchronicities are throwing themselves at me with fervor. As I clear and clean, more wants to come in. I invite it.
I live for these magical times, where it almost feels like a veil is being lifted, or at least getting thinner. The ability to see into ‘some other place’ which is only accessed and understood from an intuitive zone. When I try to logically understand, my mind gets up in arms about this. It wants hard facts. But there is no intellectual understanding, just knowing.
I’m ‘recognizing’ people more and more. Male/female, young/old. They are literally appearing right before me. Everyday people, just like me. People who go to work, feed their kids, pick up dog poop, but who know and experience so much more.
I affectionately refer to these folks as ‘Purple People’ and I recently wrote a poem about it. I think that we all emit some type of energy that draws us more to one person over another, whatever name you want to give it, it’s there. In my particular case, I’m calling it purple. I’m obviously not talking about race here, this is aura/chakra stuff, but if that’s just too weird for you, think of it scientifically, like similar elements fitting well together.
I also think that sometimes, there can be Too Much of a good thing, which is why it’s nice to experience different colors, or at least different shades of the same hue. When I see an intensely Purple Person I am both extremely drawn to them, as well as completely afraid of combusting should I get too close. Sometimes it’s most comforting just to know they are there, from afar. If you’ve experienced this, you know what I mean. I wrote this poem a couple years ago:
“Glow”
We’re like wildfire
Burning everything in sight
But I’d rather be
The gentle glow
Of a trusty old lantern
Savoring the old
Enough
To illuminate
The entire night.
One of my most special Purple People passed on about seven and a half years ago. I thought I was nuts when I began to understand that she was trying to communicate with me through the recurring appearance of yellow roses, and then bees. I wrote about this phenomenon in one of my favorite posts thus far on this blog. (please read this!)
Tonight, I was driving home watching the sky turn pale pink. I thought of my deceased friend (who in many ways is still very much alive) and for a brief moment, my mind got the best of me, and I began to doubt. I thought, “Could it really be TRUE that she communicates to me through bees?” That exact moment the car in front of me slowed down. This is what is saw:
Yes, it’s been that kind of week, month and year so far. Things are sparkling, bees are making honey, and I’m quite certain there is much more sweetness on the horizon.
Cardinal
With the broken wing
Meet me
In the red room
On top of the stairs.
I want to
Wash you
Of all this pain
In a bath of garnets and rubies.
Feed you
Strawberries, cherries and love.
Lay you
On a warm bed
Of copper threads and crimson petals.
Wake you
From this earthbound dream.
An entire scarlet sky
Calls for you
By name.
poem by Jill Lurie
1/28/12
For those of you in the Los Angeles area, I am extremely happy to announce that I’ll be doing a poetry reading to benefit a local school garden on Sunday, February 12th at 2:00PM.
The Learning Garden at Venice High School is a one-acre oasis right in the middle of the city that offers classes to students of all ages as well as the local community. Run by Master Gardener David King, this secret garden has been a respite for me for a number of years. It’s an honor to be able to support this garden.
I’ll be reading verses from my book “Ginger Roots, Plantings of a Future Dreamer,” as well as some new poems that will appear in my next book, out later this year. Local poets Orchid Black and Tatiana Sulovska will also read their poetry, and David will offer a couple of his verses as well. The suggested donation is $15, which includes the reading, a signed copy of my book, yummy refreshments and a tour of the entire garden. We want everyone interested to be able to enjoy this event, so no one will be turned away for lack of funds (though all donations will go directly to the garden and its students).
The website for The Learning Garden is www.tlgdaily.blogspot.com .
Thank you for supporting local PUBLIC schools, local gardens and local poets!
Sunday February 12th 2012
2:00PM
The Learning Garden at Venice High School
13000 Venice Bl. Los Angeles, CA 90066
At the corner of Venice Bl. and Walgrove – enter through the gate on Walgrove
Blue tree
With your head turned
Upside down.
Heady perfume
Of magnolia, cinnamon
And salt air.
Drinking from
An indigo well,
You show us
How to leave this world
Petrified,
Only to return
As crystal.
poem: Jill Lurie
painting: Brad Kranich (painted with his beard)
I continue to find myself in a complete overhaul of my home. I am giving stuff away hand over fist.
Things I thought I would have never given away. Things I thought had so much value to me. Things I purchased even last month. Gone.
Though my small house is far from cluttered, I’m finding that, truly, I want a fraction of the countless items I’ve brought home with me over the past eight years of living here. I need air around me. I need space to breathe. And I need to know who I am independent of the physical things I thought I needed to define me.
I realize in such a profound way that I thought I needed a lot of ‘stuff’ around me to mirror who I believed I was, or to tell me who I wanted to be. Now, I just want to be me, and know that if all this stuff goes away, I will not cease to exist. In fact, I will become even more of who I truly am.
I find that all the things around me are ‘talking’ constantly, which prevents me from just being here today. The ‘stuff’ loves to discuss all the ‘old times’ and keeps me living in the past, or fearful of what might happen if I let go and actually have faith in what is happening now.
Because the truth is that I do not want the crappy ink drawing I did when I was nine years old of a pink flower. Instead, I want to remember the fun I had in that kids’ art class all those years ago, or, better yet, I’d like to go out in a garden today and see a flower in real life. I do not want the miniature wooden chicken I picked up in Kauai five years ago. I want to remember the feeling of Kauai inside my heart, or, better yet, I’d love to actually go visit those ridiculous roadside birds again on that beautiful island. I do not want the book on my shelf that says “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff,” I just want to be not sweating the small stuff. I don’t want all the back issues of yoga magazines I’ve been holding on to for ‘reference.’ I’d rather just go to class, or do a few stretches here at home. And I don’t even want the pants I purchased years ago on a shopping trip with my friend Sandro, who sadly moved across the world this past weekend. I’d rather keep Sandro in my heart – those pants certainly will not bring him back.
The seeking, purchasing, cleaning, organizing and eventual passing on of all these things is exhausting and distracting. I’ve realized that rather than supporting me, the stuff is holding me back because it holds me in a time warp of what was, instead of what is. Of course, this totally goes against everything we are spoon fed here in America where we are told that more is more and that we should take whatever you can whenever you can. There is a fear of ‘missing out’ on something, when in fact, the complete opposite is true.
When I lived in Tuscany in college, it really was La Dolce Vita. Those Italians really understood what has true value. Fresh food, a modest but comfortable home, doing what you love and most important, being with the people you love. (For me, that’s my amazing and adorable husband and son – my two favorite people on this planet).
I’m finding that in saying no to more stuff there is an immense richness that starts to come through. I’m not talking about the extra money in the bank. I’m talking about the freedom that surrounds you when you are not attached to or dependant on material things. You become more yourself, and more able to connect with those around you.
Today, on this new lunar new year and new moon, I continue to feel inspired to sit more with the nothingness and emptiness, realizing that in doing so, a light and beauty beyond measure emerges.
This morning my son and I made a garden still life out of some of the winter bits growing in our backyard. We come up with all sorts of projects while (somewhat) quietly waiting for my adorable husband to wake up. (The secret to a happy marriage is letting your hubby sleep in!)
I think the tiny pieces look quite pretty together – I would love to do a watercolor of this little composition, though words and photos come much easier for me than paintings!
Red Chard
Rue
Broccoli flowers
Serrano pepper
Red pepper
Lemon
Orange
Sage
Parsley
Curly kale
Rose hip
And a last garden rose I found trailing along the wooden fence.
