Ground

From left to right: papaya, strawberry guava, pitanga (surinam cherry), papaya, Buddha guava

Some of the seeds I have dried. Some I will plant and others I will save until the spring. Labeling has never been one of my strong suits. Order in general proves difficult. 

I got my shot at patience today. Ask anybody who works with wood that splinters or small bits of glass or metal and surely they will have the experience of biting and digging with nails, knowing that a sand sized grain has lodged somewhere beneath the skin. You feel it. And if you’re like me cannot stop until it’s gone. 

I bit and pulled and had to look half crazy to the people around me at the restaurant late last night, but finally popped the skin free, and where this grain once was there is now a circle of tender red flesh. That circle of tender red flesh disturbed the lock enough that it would not register my print.

I had to wait for Lisa who told me that one of the reasons they went from the padlock to the fingerprint bit is that somebody had given the code to some people who took up residence in the garden. She said one of these women attacked her. She was a fake wheelchair lady, meaning that she rolled in a chair, but when she spotted danger jumped up and charged Lisa. Much the way I thought Dude the pig might charge me today while Lisa tried to get my phone hooked to the padlock app. And I tried to grab the goats by their horns and get them back inside. 

I don’t know if other people who meditate are able to watch themselves in real time and know that despite the frustrations that can come with modern day technology that they are exhibiting patience. It was as if I was standing outside myself watching a patient person wait for the QRCP30 code to load, to take a camera shot, to put in passwords and nearly every damn thing but the social security number.

Patience is something that still surprises me. The times when I am slow, when I look around the yard and consider how work might be done in stages. When I consider how this business might unfold, when I consider where I am in this moment and where I might be three years from now. Funny the way the mind works, the way I can be afraid that I won’t make enough money. Then when opportunity comes in there is a part of me that becomes overwhelmed. How will I ever take on all of this business? How will I find people I can trust to know what I know.

This brings me to another point. You would think that I was making this up had I not already told you about the two Will’s. I sold plants to both today. There is something inside of me that wants to make sure that what they plant in the ground survives, that wants to see every little detail, that wants to know.

The great gift of play is that I get to watch what I have started become play in their lives. I get to become a part of their connection with the ground which will only enrich my own. The other day I spoke about grind and today I’d like to consider ground, not in the past tense sense of grind but rather in what I guess would be a noun? Grounded. To be grounded.

There are times that men come to me and we sit and we share the deepest parts of ourselves. Nasim once said that she can tell the difference after I have sat with these men. She says that I seem grounded, slower, connected with myself.

The same thing happens when I watch the lights come on regarding somebody’s desire to see a seed become a plant or a seedling become a sapling. The latter becomes woody. The latter becomes sturdy. Seems that I know survival will take place even if the leaves are lost. So that what worked in the beginning may not be necessary later because the plant is always evolving, and when my eyes are open and your eyes are open, the heart of the plant watcher evolves as well. Together the grower and the grown create the growing. This is reciprocal. 

Plants have sentience. This has been studied. They recognize words and emotions and they respond accordingly. And if a plant is capable of this, just imagine what this says about my responsibility, about your responsibility, about our responsibility, around other human beings.