Silent Summer School

Though I recently expressed that summer is my least favorite season, it has shaped up quite nicely in terms of my work at the schoolyard garden.

I’m still tending the tiny plot at the edge of what is mostly a concrete jungle, and the nicest part of it – no offense – is that the school is almost completely empty.

I’ve turned the entire experience into my own little oasis. I drop my son off at camp and make my way over to the secret garden.

Instead of being greeted by screaming kids, honking horns or blaring announcements over the PA system, during the silent summer, I’m greeted by plants, bees, quiet and an old wooden bench where I sip my tea, read the book I’ve brought with me or just sit in silence.

It’s heaven.

Of course, there is work to be done, too, which I take on happily. I like working. A lot. I learn so much from the plants, and their process of transformation reminds me to release what has been, be here with what’s now, and look forward to the abundance to come.

Mirrors everywhere – I am grateful.

I’m also excited for the garden space to be in tip top shape when class is back in session next month. I’m weeding, planting, pruning, trimming and planning an expansion for a little lavender sitting garden. That will be a fun surprise for everyone.

The only ‘company’ I have on campus is my favorite fixture at the school – Arnold. He’s the self proclaimed ‘legend’ who has dutifully cared for the school for the past 7 years.

As janitor, he’s got a pulse on everything going on there, and he takes real good care of me, helping me whenever I need it, and leaving me alone when he sees I’m sitting in meditation while he’s cleaning nearby.

We are a good team.

His favorite nicknames for me are tomboy, sweetie, honey and dirt dog, in no particular order. I think he likes that I can wield a pick axe one day and show up in a dress and heels another.

He sees the real me.

Most of the time you’ll find him gliding through school on his sweeper. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. He’s very Zen about it. I think it’s his moving meditation, though we don’t ever talk about it like that. Some things are better left unsaid, if you know what I mean. Mostly we just like to joke around and pose for the occasional funny photo together (see below).

Yes, these days at school it’s just me, the garden and Arnold. Taking in the sun and enjoying a little peace and quiet in a place that will soon enough be buzzing again with life and activity.

Wild Kingdom

At last
the light comes in
gentle, luminous.

A gift
from my own hand -
a woman’s touch.
Folding myself back inside.
origami….a love note.

Me to me
is ecstasy.

Handmade paper lanterns
transparent, fragile, radiant
fill this heart
and make the short journey
from chest to crown.

It only took a lifetime to get here.

An open expanse
A place to breathe

Wild kingdom
I will never
conquer.

{Jill Lurie 7/19/12}

little things

Sometimes it’s in the little things.

And sometimes it’s in the big things.

But today…it was the little things. Little moments of grace, gratitude. Metaphorical seeds planted for next season’s harvest. Faith and moving forward. I’m hungry for what’s next.

In the schoolyard garden that I still tend during summer break, I am grateful for the solitude, the quiet and even for all the weeds that need my attention.

I fucking love those weeds.

They are clear, decisive, transparent. Easy.

There is no debate as to whether they are ‘good’ or ‘bad’ for me, they simply do not belong mixed in with the bed of strawberries.

End of story.

I fucking love those weeds.

They make it easy for me. No decisions to make, no problems to solve, no bigger life choices to contemplate.

Just grab, pull, toss. They take me in like a gentle old friend who doesn’t ask any questions and who lets me just sit on the couch with a cup of tea, in silence.

I fucking love those weeds.

It was a ‘productive’ morning in the garden, mostly of doing nothing in particular, except removing the weeds (inedible) from the food (that which nourishes me). In other words, removing obstacles (I glance and smile at my tiny crystal Ganesha across the room as I write these words).

Remover of obstacles.

This morning, on my way out of the garden, I snipped a little bouquet of catnip and oregano flowers and grabbed a tiny cluster of tomatoes that had fallen to the ground. A beautiful, rustic little offering from the garden that I gratefully displayed in my home.

Much more weeding to come…

Lion Food

Summer is my least favorite season.

Sorry.

It’s just too hot out there for a red-headed Leo. With my fair skin and fiery personality, I’m already cooking most of the time…this season just seems to bring it into overdrive.

In terms of summer food traditions, my alcohol allergy prevents me from indulging in mojitos, craft beer and sangria on the patio. My vegetarian diet prevents me from eating burgers and grilled shrimp at backyard barbeques.

Oh, and I don’t like ice cream.

But at least there are tomatoes.

I do love tomatoes in all forms, and I’m very pleased to say that there is an abundance of them in my backyard right now. Red, yellow, green, solid, striped…juicy gems that beckon to be popped straight in my mouth, or mingled with something else growing back there…my own kind of summer party.

Today it was jalapenos, parsley and a few farm eggs.

I cracked the eggs in a bowl, mixed in the herbs, sliced tomatoes and the (entire) jalapeno. Then I gently cooked the egg mixture over low heat in a puddle of olive oil on the stove. Once set, sprinkle the warm little baby with sea salt.

I ate this morsel midday, comfortably situated inside my woman cave (I mean cool house), while waiting for the sun to go down so I can go out.

Happy little lioness…full belly, ready to emerge with the setting sun, and take the evening by storm.

Inner Independence

What a perfect day to explore what freedom really means.

Today I’ve politely declined kind-hearted invitations to BBQs, parades and fireworks shows in favor of spending most of the day alone, contemplating what true independence really means.

For me, above everything else, it means a place within yourself where pure honesty, expression and joy live.

It’s the place where ego, fear and expectation can never exist. They are not welcome here. Perhaps some people refer to this space as your higher self or your soul. I like to think of it as an inner garden.

And in the garden is where I spent a few beautiful, hot, muggy, overcast Los Angeles hours today. With the house blissfully empty, I sat and waited to see where my attention was needed.

Then I heard the plants calling.

I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve been neglecting the yard lately. While the neighbors still pass by and sing its praises, I know, inside, that there is so much more work and love I could be putting into it, and yet I hold back.

But not any longer, not today.

Spring came early this year, which means that the flowers have bloomed and passed early, as well. So dead-heading (cutting off the spent blooms) was at the top of the to-do list.

This process is sort of the ‘thankless’ job of any gardener. It’s necessary, and ensures the health of the plant and the proliferation of the next growing season. But, looking out at the yard and seeing literally thousands of dead little flowers needing to be cut off – one by one by hand – can be daunting.

Then the little internal (garden) voice comes in and says, “There’s something for you in this process, but you have to get inside to know it.”

So I get started, and am surprised to realize that cutting the dead flowers is almost as gratifying as cutting a rose in full bloom. It’s true!

Why?

Because it represents freedom, evolution…change. It’s the pre-curser to all the beauty that is trying to arrive at your doorstep…if only you’d get out of your own way.

It represents a willingness to look at the messy parts, give them attention, and then let them go. They want us to let them go, but we have to be willing to do it. It’s easy to sit in a garden in full bloom, but not as enticing to tackle a hillside of plants in need. No wonder I’ve been neglecting the yard as it has been.

I sort of envision that people care for their gardens in a similar way that they care for themselves. And I realized that being with each dead bloom – fully – was an opportunity to witness the passing of time, express gratitude for what has been, and symbolically (and literally) plan for and open to the beauty that is to come.

I do this with each redundant snip of the shears.

There were moments when I could have cut corners. I could have left some dead spots underneath the plants where most people couldn’t see them. But I would know they are there, and so getting deep into the plants – hair full of leaves, thorns poking the skin on my fingers – was an expression and affirmation of my own willingness to never abandon myself, and to leave no stone unturned inside myself.

This is freedom.

Because freedom is trust. Inside of trust is pure expansion and openness and an ability to go anywhere. If you trust in yourself and in another, anything is possible.

You can go anywhere because you know that – no matter what – you will care for all of the parts of the ‘garden’: the pretty parts and the ‘no-so-pretty’ parts that require just as much attention.

And you attend to them not as a martyr, but in a simple, quiet, anonymous way (just you with you). You know that you will go to every corner of the garden outside yourself and inside yourself to experience beauty, and to weed out or trim back that which needs to be removed. This is power. This is freedom.

It’s a beautiful place in there. You can trust yourself one hundred percent. And it’s a gift to others in your life, too, because they can trust and know that you will tend to everything. You won’t go to sleep on them, or only show up when things look ‘pretty.’

You are fully awake and open to receive the beauty, bounty and blooms that the garden wants to gift you, and you are ready to do whatever it takes to keep the garden healthy, even if it means spending a national holiday alone, hands ripped up by thorns, heart blissfully happy.

This is freedom.