Garden Gifts

I am a dual person. For some bizarre reason, Creation has seen fit to give me a shadow with a voice. This means that any choice I make in life sets up a contrapuntal dialogue that can easily escalate into a fullblown argument. This is a truth I am learning only now. I cringe at the amount of energy that has been wasted in conflict with myself. How do whole countries do it? I've tried to wrestle my Otherness into submission...silence the duplicity into Oneness...and I've even believed at times that I've succeeded only to find the subterranean layers of myself quaking and bursting with repressed energy that I thought I had put away once and for all...like the radioactive waste that we humans try to hide from ourselves and our children that seeps out full of destructive intent revealing the original sin of our intellectual premise...that we humans rule the world. That one light or one thoughtform stands powerful over all may be a weed rooted in our Garden. And rather than feed it, nurture and encourage it...I'm rebelling. No. Out, out damn spot...the violence of that one basic notion is the taproot of a very toxic weed. I've discovered quite by accident, that the better way to rule the kingdom, both inner and outer, is to gently preside over...and to curtail the habit of hovering. Last year the growing conditions were ideal...lots of hot sun and frequent meaningful showers but much watering had to be done due to dryness. It was a wonderful year for putting your faith in the natural tendency of life to take care of itself. I talked up a good performance but all the while, I was secretly hovering over my garden filled with worry and doubt...Stephen was recovering from a huge major surgery and I had put all my eggs in one basket...I made my garden my sole focus and I learned...like parenting Sam (our firstborn) for the first 2 years of his life...that a gardener/mother can over do a good thing...too much focus and attention on one young life can create an atmosphere of over dependence...like watering the garden too much...and the results are that the tender growing things don't have a strong sense of "I can do it myself". Too much help sets up a need for harsh situations to restore the balance. Sam went to the school of hard knocks to temper the damage created by overzealous mothering. Will, on the other hand, had the words to wake me up..."I'll do it...I'll do it...I'll do it." That was his 2 year old mantra. This year I hear my plants singing the same song. A deep well placed watering does more than a daily moistening to encourage strong deep rooted growth. The same goes for kids. Sometimes you have to leave them in a pickle of their own making so they can develope the muscle necessary to feel confident within themselves at their ability to cope. It's hard to let them falter. It's hard to see the tender green shoots sitting in a dry soil and wilting under the lack of water...but they know they can do without if they get a chance to test that muscle...and after they've had a good drink, they return more robustly than ever.

Stephen's journey left me to do without for 5 weeks. I had some needed soul food in spending time alone with my shadow. There was nobody to put any of my baggage onto and "it all came back to me". Perhaps I woke up to parts of myself I had attributed to Stephen...some good ones...some not so great. I developed daily rituals that strengthened my creative expression and my sense of self sufficiency. I exercised daily. Me and my shadow got into a beat.When Stephen returned, the first thing that went out the window was my new routine. And the question arose...what is important here? Do I become a tyrant over myself and rule the kingdom with an iron fist...furthering my lonliness? Or do I resist the tendency to tamp down creative impulses and urges for self care by gently presiding over my inner/outer garden with a sense of faith that all will balance out in time. If I am flexible and yielding in marriage, I must also be flexible and yielding in my relationship with my shadow. That's the secret. Keep the dialogue going between me and my resistance by keeping the door open to the complexity of the discourse of marriage. Such a juggling act...so many voices to coordinate in the chorus. Thank goodness I have this awesome garden telling me how to take care of things. This garden gives me more than food. It gives me food for thought and soul food to boot. And you can't buy that in the grocery store.

RE-ENTRY

And they are back. Suddenly, the wide open seas and skies and the unpunctuated time has shifted with the arrival of the resident males. There is scurrying about to catch up with mundane affairs like bills and vehicles and minor fixes and the pressured rush of words to try to communicate the events and evolutions that have occurred over the 5 week hiatus. I see more clearly that my being home alone and all the horizons that opened up inside of me resemble an adventure on the high seas more than I gave it credit for while the guys were away. So the adventure for me was being unleashed from female roles that seem to cling to me like comfortable old clothes, when the males are nearby. They don't even have to drop a gauntlet for me to come to attention seeking the ways that I can make their return easier and more comfortable. Stephen says he's blown away. The feel of the house...the stability of the bathroom....the comfort of our bed...everything seems altered because he's altered. Yet I find I'm altered too. Somehow, this time that has passed...wide open and all mine....unstructured and all mine...nourishing and all mine...this time has entered my awareness and comes like a pause before my automatic pilot kicks in. I notice when I dish myself up some yogurt and rhubarb that Stephen has a wee pout and his what about me look speaks to me of an expectation that I prepare his breakfast even though he insists he doesn't expect anything. I remind him where the fridge is. If he doesn't have the expectation...then who's expectation am I jumping to fulfill? Is it really just the depth of my conditioning that has me automatically picking up everyone's laundry? Offering to cook breakfast? And the realization I had after the empty space entered...was that mmmm...either Stevo has expectations that he's not going to own or my willingness to do for him without question has created the opponent with whom I wrestle. So maybe I'm talented at yet another skill I never noticed in myself before...shadowboxing.

Re-entry is a vulnerable time. Everything seems fresh and new and the seeds are planted for an evolution. It helps to keep in mind that as he is getting his balance coming home...I am regaining mine in relation to his return as well. Both of us have huge new skyscapes and seascapes and timescapes redefining our perspectives and we are both one step removed from our unconscious and automatic everyday awarenesses. As I realize the place my "efforts" stem from and bring them into some kind of gentle acceptance for release..I gain an understanding of where all of this pressure comes from. And I do believe it comes from myself.

A FLOWER DRUM SONG

How did it become June 12th? Time is moving so fast that I figure I must be having fun. But I'm not doing the things that most people find fun and thats where I get a little mental. Now that Stephen and the boys have been away for 4 weeks and we are cruising into our last week of girls at home while the guys are out adventuring on the high seas, I am aware of a constant whiney bitch inside my head. She says...what have you done with your time? What do you have to show for it? How have you changed? Where's the evidence? Why haven't you been more adventurous and out there? Why aren't you taking advantage of the space and developing a social life?...and blah blah blah. When she gets really worked up she compares me to my mother who loves nothing better than to sit happily in her chair and read. Now that she is 85 she can even read books a second time and not even realize she's already read it but for a vague whisper of familiar about the story. She is easily content and doesn't give a hoot about what anyone else thinks she should be doing. But the whiney bitch can turn that lovely quality about Mum into a cowardly, unambitious old lady who's hiding from the world and playing it safe by not going out and interacting socially. Truth be told...part of me judges my mother and always has. I attributed all the fun and adventure and financial growth to my Dad as a child. It was easy to do that because he was gone 6 1/2 days a week and there was plenty of white canvas to draw what I imagined to be his world. Mom, on the other had, was always at home. I saw what she did and I judged her choices as being boring, repetitive, exhausting, unfulfilling and unimaginative. The blue and the pink took on their attributes at an early age. As I look back, it becomes clearer to me why it was that in high school, I painted my bedroom creme colored and navy blue. Besides the fun of horrifying my mother because the color was so dark, I was making the statement that I wanted to be like my Dad...boyish, blue, free as a bird. I was so judgmental of femaleness that I swore I'd never marry or have children. My fantasy life was to work in the Peace Corps over in Africa and have a lifetime of wild and exotic adventures that I could write home about. Albert Schweitzer and my Uncle John(a surgeon) were my heros and I fancied myself to be someone who could make a difference.

I spent a lot of energy being angry at my mother. I was blinded by my judgements of her and totally unable to see that when she chose to stay home, she was happy with her choice. She loved having her 5 daughters as long as they gave her plenty of space. She rode horses and took dance and played tennis...but I saw her as chained to the house and all the dreary housework. She was "just a housewife" but only in my perception.

No. I didn't write the Great American Novel during my 5 weeks. I didn't master a new art form or break into an exciting social circle. I didn't travel anywhere that would be far enough to make Sadie throw up...she gets carsick. Most of my travel was on foot. I did realize that I constantly compare myself to men particularly in the areas of fixing broken things and making money...both areas are my inner special needs child. Here I am living a rich and satisfying life growing my own food, writing, making art and enjoying the great outdoors and I can't let myself enjoy because I can't fix things like Stephen or make as much money...so that means I'm a failure, right? Only to the whiney bitch. This break in my life's routine has been eye-opening...and rich. I spend so much mental energy berating myself for not being an adventurous handyman that I fail to appreciate just what I have accomplished and how brave I am at what I do do. If your trying so hard to be blue how can you appreciate yourself being pink?

I did do a water color of a bluebird...and because there has been an Indigo Bunting hanging around for 4 days, I looked into its symbolism and discovered it is an omen of "safe return home"...all blue...as blue as I felt thinking I missed a lifetime opportunity to sail with my family in the Caribbean. Lucky for me, I understand the power of a deep exhale and the satisfaction of a fresh breath.

If I was born blue...it was only because I had the cord wrapped around my neck and needed desperately to take that deep fresh BREATH to become who I was born to be...a healthy pink little girl. So out the door I skipped to pick some flowers for my table...3 blue Lupine and one pink...a bold pretty pink it is indeed. I'm reminded of putting on shows with my sisters to a recording of Flower Drum Song. My favorite number I performed with what I thought was witty sarcasm...I Enjoy Being A Girl. Now that I've sucked the sarcasm out of it I can sincerely say at 58...dammit...I enjoy being a girl. Pink is a perfectly brilliant color...

CLOUDTALK

Last night the clouds were wild, billowing shapes that spoke to me of a new way of thinking. This photo evokes a breathing, blustery tree spirit blowing something to the wind...taking time to exhale...and there were dramatic pictures in the clouds no matter in what direction I looked. June 1st was an eye opener. It had been a week since I heard any word from my family sailing on the Carribean Sea. My last email was on May 26th indicating they were in Dominican Republic and bound for Turks and Caicos. The passage would be 24 hours. When June 1st dawned with no word from them and I received a note from Sam's girl, Cass indicating he had not been updating the Dirt Livingston as I believed, I suddenly became worried. I figured we should have heard something by Memorial Day at least. There was also a rip roaring thunder and lightening storm at 8 AM and I was out in my garden trying to give some protection to my newly planted tomatoes and cukes. The lightening was so close and so powerful that I ran like a scared little bunny into my burrow...leaving my plants to fend for themselves. Of course I thought...what kind of gardener just lets nature take her course? Gardening is about cultivating certain plants over others in a defined space. If I don't control what I can control, then I'm not doing my job. These are the thoughts that set up my day. You may have noticed they are somewhat self critical. Anyway...while I was eating my lunch, Fed Ex delivered a photo book I had made to honor the time I spent with my family in Antigua before they set sail on their manly adventure. I sat and slowly leafed through the book fondly reminded of wonderful moments we shared. Seeing their faces and the Carribean environment and suddenly I am afraid they are lolling about in a boat with no wind and they've run out of food and water. Clearly, I need to call the Coast Guard, and get a fix on their location even if I am unable to communicate with them. So I call. The woman petty officer I spoke with told me the weather had been pretty good and that there was really sketchy connection for any kind of wireless communication in the islands. She also told me most people who report concern for recreational sailing vessells, hear from their loved ones within a few hours. I assured her I wasn't in a panic and that my gut was telling me they were safe but that I was concerned. What if they had something break? She said she'd look into it but it would likely be a day or two before I heard anything from them because everything moves slowly...mmmm. One of those time warps...or a culture that doesn't consider time to be that important. If I live my life with an eye to the passage of time, where is my full attention? On how much time is passing. No wonder I have a chronic sense of waiting. My life is passing by me while I wait for some future event that I have no control over...this habit mixed with my self critical thinking simmers in a stew pot spiced with worries and what ifs. How can that meal nourish happiness or joy when I've hung those up on someonelse's coat peg and I'm sitting around waiting for them to find me. Can there be any wonder why I'd just as soon lose my mind. Its all jammed up with whirling debris and a vortex of self defeating voices. Sssshhhh. Thats what the tree spirit seems to say. Shuussshhh up! Or maybe it is the Cowardly Lion speaking his word into the Universe. Courage. Courage to speak my heart...courage to listen to my heart...courage to let go of the self sabotaging mind sets of my past.

After I spoke with the guys, I went outside to sit on the porch and listen to the birds. I looked out over the mountains to see what appeared to be the shaping of a funnel cloud over the White mountains. I heard the sound of rocks beating the roof and when I looked in the grass there were hailstones the size of golf balls. Ouch. My poor garden. Now that I stopped worrying about my family, I was back to worrying about my tomatoes and cukes. This is just crazy. If life isn't handing me something to worry about, I'm creating things for my mind to worry about. When I went outside to take photos of the exquisite skyscapes surrounding my house yesterday, I stepped into an uncanny sense of peace. Today was not my day to lose my family or myself in the whimsical winds of change. I give thanks for that. And when I look at my selected skyscape now, I feel the cloud formation telling me to...breathe....let it all out...let it go...take this empty moment and exhale. No worries.