I sit in the back yard garden in the dappled shade beneath the cherry tree. The sun is too warm, and the breeze makes me want to move back into the sun.
From my perch, I see the wild-branched peach tree, the new strawberry bed, a white butterfly on a purple flower, the empty bee boxes weathered with hope, and the first chicken coop my husband ever built, simultaneously old while insinuating new: reminding of the fresh days of invigorated youth where painting the chicken coop felt worthwhile—not just in idea but in consummate action. It’s a dark green, ostensibly, so it blends in with the surrounding live oaks and California buckeyes.
Our chickens are clucking in encouragement as one hen mentally prepares to lay her daily egg. The geoengineering planes are low enough to hear today. In the distance, the rhythm of pickle balls thwack. Neighbor men laugh and chat.
Squirrels leap nimbly from oak to oak. The acorn woodpeckers chide. Scrubjays eye the older strawberry patch. Wrens busy to build yet another nest. May they find the perfect spot this time.
I almost smell honeysuckle and grass, though my sense of smell is still muted by the cold I’m coming out of. This morning’s ginger beet juice still feels spicy on my tongue, tiny needles of aliveness like stars. The scrubjay now seems to eye me.
Writing in the garden is a risky move. There’s so much to do, to pull, to sow, to see, to dream. The cherries and quince look to want water. The magical fairyland I want to build and tend is overwhelmed with weeds. The garden is a place that can distract from the task at hand, which was to write about what it means to live a human life these days.
And yet, I had to begin with here. Location. Me, slowing down enough to savor what it’s like to sit in this seat. I am the seat and the seat is me. As I shift, the story shifts. Noticing and transcribing the noticing in real time.
I’ve just given you the recipe for a simple meditation: use the senses to bring you back home, to reaquaint and root you to where you are. Now.
Close the eyes and stay alert. Zoom out and verify with your senses that it’s all working out. You don’t know why or how and you don’t need to.
What can you hear, feel, taste, smell, see?—the oh so much light and color behind the curtain of drawn eyelids.
Move from passively occupying your life to actively participating in it via the simple action of noticing. Take back the power of your attention.
The bees buzz from sage to rosemary to daisy. Someone vacuums, another blows.
Another tries again and again to rev the chainsaw into action. Instead of asking, why does it take so many tries to get the thing going, know getting it started is part of your workout. That you had to work at it increases your satisfaction as it whirrs into action.
Some days appreciating what it feels like to be here, the divine spark of the infinite in this finite human body, is enough. Maybe remembering the groundedness of where are—especially in nature—is part of what keeps us human, messy and fully alive with a sense of humor. The scrubjay flies away, and the hummingbird almost lands on me.
How are you feeling? Has it been intense for you too?
Look up outside. What wonders do you perceive?
All my love,
Heather