There is a lot of killing in my garden. Not the least of which is done by me – ripping up carrots, tearing out lettuce by its roots, digging up potatoes and cutting of asparagus plants shortly after they emerge to search for light.
Careful observation reveals that others are involved in this distasteful activity. There are the ubiquitous spider webs – instruments of execution. Birds nibble here and there, various insects dine on others and then there is the feral cat that wanders in from time to time; I know he is eating something.
All of this is, well, natural. Part of God’s plan. Interestingly, all the major religions have some sort of admonition against killing. Whatever is meant by that?
Religious people throughout history have had remarkably different interpretations of this “commandment”. You have Sikhs who wear masks to avoid inhaling, and thus killing, an absent-minded insect. Certain Buddhists have been known to carefully dig up and find new accommodations for worms in an area that is to be excavated. At the other extreme are many, probably most of us, are willing to kill most anyone whose lives we find inconvenient.
The Dalai Lama was once asked if he would kill a mosquito. He replied that he would probably let the insect take a first bite, but if it came back for a second, it was toast. ( I’m paraphrasing here.) I’m not so inclined to be generous with that first nip, but I do understand the sentiment. We need to be disciplined and thoughtful about our killing. Taking out a mosquito, frankly, is not a challenge to the big picture. On the other hand, eliminating mosquitoes entirely, as we often want to do for “bothersome” creatures, is damaging to God’s ecosystem and ultimately to our own well being.
I think the Dalai Lama was suggesting that there are no “up or down” rules. We will all kill on a regular basis – animals, plants, mosquitoes, gut bacteria. Whatever. But when we choose to end life that is part of the divine fabric, it behooves us to be aware, to be mindful, to do it with care.
Some argue that “killing” in religious texts refers only to humans. While that seems a little chauvinistic I have to agree that there is something more serious about taking the life of conscious beings, including ourselves. Even within this narrower focus, however, a clear rule is not apparent. Many see an absolute prohibition against homicide of any form. Most of us, however, seem to interpret the killing of people from other tribes, countries, gangs, ethnicities, or religions as still permissible and within the providence of “gods will”. In addition, it is suggested, God makes allowances for dispensing those from our own tribes if they are really irritating or we don’t agree with them or for some other equally important reason we judge them unworthy.
While there are the conscientious objectors who are willing to be jailed or die before they will kill a human, there are those who put bible verses on weapons they take into battle. How is one to make sense of this?
For a long time I felt that unyielding non-violence was a firm rule. In the 1980s I saw the movie “Gandhi”; then I read Gandhi; then I tried to be Gandhi. In the basic teachings of every major religious there is a reminder that “killing begets killing, hatred begets hatred” etc. History over and over has proved this to be true. Humans must not harm other humans. For their sake, for my sake. I honestly felt that given the opportunity I would be the one to nobly sacrifice myself in the interest of peace - just like Gandhi.
Then I had grandchildren. Game change. Don’t mess with my grandchildren. I don’t pretend to be a fighter or even know which direction of a gun is up, but I am not beyond serious whapping with a rolling pin or similar lethal weapon, in defense of my grandchildren.
I’m not proud of this and I’ve had some serious talks with myself about this, but in honesty, I can't excape this un-Gandhian attitude. I might be willing to take some blows myself, but I won’t stand back when my grandchildren are in the line of fire. This doesn’t make me unique. Recently, in Sacramento there was a grandfather who ran in front of a moving car to push his grandson to safety. In the process the grandfather was seriously hurt. Everyone got all excited about the guy –how brave, how selfless, all that stuff. Well, I’m on to him. That’s what grandparents are programmed to do. We’ve done that forever. He was running on instinct.
Here's the thing. If I am willing to commit violence against another human being to protect my grandchild, what about someone else’s grandchild? What about someone else’s grown up grandchild? If I believe in the interconnectedness of life doesn’t that make me willing to kill for just about anyone?
It gets so messy.
Just give me a rule that I can make fit my needs, and let’s be done with it.
I remember a discussion with a dear, wise old friend, a teacher and follower of the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth, and a life long pacifist He was asked that ubiquitous question “what if someone is about to shoot an innocent person, cause mayhem, blow up the world etc., would you just let it happen rather than kill the person”. His answer “I’d shoot off his trigger finger”. I’ve always loved that answer.
This man was in his late eighties when he said this – I doubt he was capable of “shooting off his trigger finger”, or much of anything else. Furthermore, I know for a fact that he would be willing to put his life on the line before he would engage in violence or killing.
So what did he mean? What he was saying was that a person who respected the divinity of the universe, of life, would do what was necessary to preserve life in the largest sense, but with as little damage as possible. No rationalization or neither is passivity. There can be no hint of self righteousness. One must be an active participant in the fabric of life, but in the gentlest, most generous and most life-enhancing way possible
Religions tend to talk a lot more about hatred than about killing. That’s because hatred is the source of the problem. Hatred with all its siblings, fear, anger, vengeance, maybe pride is in here somewhere. I think ego comes in. This is where killing goes bad.
My garden, like all living, vital things, is full of killing. But missing from the mix is hatred, vengeance, and death for the sake of emotional satisfaction. Death among the tomato plants is not necessarily pretty or nice. I don’t think it is painless; truthfully it’s hard to tell for the small animals caught in this drama. But it is not based on retribution, revenge, hate. It goes on because it is necessary for the survival of life and it is part of the strangely poignant dance of life.
The spider does not go after the fly because the fly is an “other”. Spider is hungry; fly is tasty, Nothin’ personal here.
Erma Bombeck wrote a hilarious column making fun of those psychologists who suggest you should never hit a child in anger. No, she suggested, “wait until they are tucked into bed, smiling cherubic smiles, and telling you how much they love you – then, let them have it.” Of course, she made the point. When the anger dissipates, it is difficult to imagine yourself doing violence to your child or, for that matter, anyone else. Perhaps this is why we are told to make peace with our brothers before we come to the altar of God.
Of course, this is no easy task.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Rituals
Rituals seem intrinsic to human existence. Every culture has its rituals. Big ones, little ones. Probably something to do with security, dependability, and a way to bring us together.
So many of our rituals are ways to pause, recognize the good things of life, and the beauty of divine. Sometimes they are just reminders of what makes us happy. Holidays, seasonal expressions, eating together, garden tours.
Shortly after I planted my garden I realized I had developed a new ritual for myself. Most mornings I would take my second cup of coffee and the previous day's kitchen compost out to the side yard. I would sit with my feet on the strawberry pot and observe and think. Eventually I’d take a walk around the garden pulling a weed here or there looking for new shoots and new growth and as the summer came, searching out any fruit for harvesting.
One of my first realizations was that I wasn’t alone. Truth be told, I never was one to talk to plants. Some say it helps. Don’t know. But I’m not above discussion with more animated companions, like birds who would get a kind word. So would worms, particularly if I bisected the poor things while digging. I'd apologize and offer hope for recovery. Worms are not particularly social, but after getting over a sort of visceral dislike of them, I found them kind of cute..
This little ritual became important to me. Not because I really did any significant gardening, but because it put me in relationship with this little bit of nature and, by extension, the world around me. It kept me aware and reminded me of the sacred in the mundane, of God. and gratitude. and reverence. Somehow it affected my state of being and helped me remember how generous and giving the world is. It made me feel good.
I think that is what religious rituals are at their best. Even the simplest ones can have depth and beauty and can help us understand the most important things in the universe, like our interrelatedness.
I once read an essay by an orthodox Jewish woman explaining the kitchen rituals of food preparation, including the need for separate dishes, dishwashers etc. for meat and dairy. She described how she initially resented it all, found it meaningless. But then one day she realized that she was carrying out a tradition that was literally thousands of years old. She felt connected to all those generations of woman who had followed the same tradition and to all the women across the world who were doing the same thing. Jews, she said, that have so often been scattered from their roots, were connected in a very profound way through these traditions. It gave her joy and an important sense of belonging to something large.
Islam has a ritual of praying in unison five times a day. It is a powerful pause in the day’s activities to remember the “big picture” and express gratitude and reverence for the whole. It is so easy to get caught up in life but 5 times a day all Muslims have an opportunity to connect to their international community and life itself.
The Buddhist monks make beautiful, intricate mandalas out of sand. They may spend many days on an elaborate and often breathtaking mandala. And then, almost immediately upon completion – no pictures, no time to send a iphone image to mom – the sand is scrapped into a greyish looking pile and disposed of. The lesson is one of detachment and acceptance of impermanence. Something can be very beautiful, but being “attached”, or trying to hold onto such things is a source of terrible suffering. Change is, and always will be a constant. Resisting change brings pain. We could all learn to let go of those things we feel are so important.
It seems to me that Christian Communion is one of the most powerful religious reminders of our interconnectedness. Eating together is always a communion of a sort and for the whole congregation and indeed congregations across the world to take part in this ritual of sharing bread and wine can have a deep effect on people if they choose.
Some Christians believe the bread and wine is not symbolic, but is the actualflesh and blood of Jesus of Nazareth, which of course sounds pretty creepy. But to symbolically take in the body of one who lived an admirable life and is a compelling image of the oneness of humanity, can be life-enhancing and a reminder sacred within us all.
Christian baptism, as practiced by John the Baptist was a symbolic “washing” away the wrongs a person feels he or she has committed, and a catalyst to self- forgiveness. Today, it is a ceremony usually performed on babies, likely unencumbered by evil past deeds. Nonetheless, it remains important as a formal introduction of the child to the community. Often, members are specifically assigned as “godparents” with a special concern for the child’s welfare. Together, members of the community welcome the child and commit to providing for it.
Of course, the list of beautiful religious and cultural rituals is long, and they all, at their best provide ways to help us experience our shared divinity and call us to broaden ourselves.
Trouble is – we humans have a habit of taking the cheap way out and in doing so, cheapening the sacred. Rather than deeply pondering these rituals and letting them change us, many cultures and religions, over time, have come to see the rituals themselves, not the deep symbolism, as important. We perform these acts because we are told to and/or we are afraid not to, which immediately degrades any value it might have. We start putting magical properties on the rituals, as if the rituals themselves will do something for us.
In that incessant need humans have to get all our ducks in a row - or at least get other humans under our control - some religions that will insist that only rituals of their particular traditions are valid and, those who do not perform them will suffer serious consequences.
One of many examples is Baptism. Some teach that without Christian baptism a soul will spend eternity burning in hell. For centuries, largely because of the teaching of St Augustine, it was believed that infants who died before they could be baptized would spend eternity crying from the lake of fire in constant torment. One can only imagine the suffering this caused to countless parents over the ages. But even today, many people are so convinced of the supernatural properties of these types of rituals that they suffer terribly when loved ones of a different tradition choose not to go through the motions of certain rituals.
Many years ago my aunt, a good Catholic, caused family discord when she insisted my dying mother, an equally good Episcopalian, receive the last rites from the Catholic church. She was also distressed that my mother had chosen cremation. At the time the Catholic Church taught this would destroy ones chances of resurrection into heaven. I was young, and in no way sympathetic to what I considered to be an overbearing effort by my aunt to take advantage of my mother’s vulnerability and force unwanted religious practices on her. As I look back on it, I appreciate the anxiety my aunt was experiencing. She truly cared about my mother and did not want to see her chance for a joyful afterlife destroyed my a stubborn refusal to engage in simple rituals. My aunt experienced significant anguish over this, probably until she herself died a few years later.
Rituals that originally came about to help us connect with the whole, with each other, and with the divine, often become tools of division. Instead of broadening us, they can narrow us into our own fears and become tools to inflict misery.
It behooves us to look for the beauty, life-enhancing and joyful meanings of the rituals in our lives while avoid meanings that feed our prejudices, and reduce the sacred to mechanical acts.
So many of our rituals are ways to pause, recognize the good things of life, and the beauty of divine. Sometimes they are just reminders of what makes us happy. Holidays, seasonal expressions, eating together, garden tours.
Shortly after I planted my garden I realized I had developed a new ritual for myself. Most mornings I would take my second cup of coffee and the previous day's kitchen compost out to the side yard. I would sit with my feet on the strawberry pot and observe and think. Eventually I’d take a walk around the garden pulling a weed here or there looking for new shoots and new growth and as the summer came, searching out any fruit for harvesting.
One of my first realizations was that I wasn’t alone. Truth be told, I never was one to talk to plants. Some say it helps. Don’t know. But I’m not above discussion with more animated companions, like birds who would get a kind word. So would worms, particularly if I bisected the poor things while digging. I'd apologize and offer hope for recovery. Worms are not particularly social, but after getting over a sort of visceral dislike of them, I found them kind of cute..
This little ritual became important to me. Not because I really did any significant gardening, but because it put me in relationship with this little bit of nature and, by extension, the world around me. It kept me aware and reminded me of the sacred in the mundane, of God. and gratitude. and reverence. Somehow it affected my state of being and helped me remember how generous and giving the world is. It made me feel good.
I think that is what religious rituals are at their best. Even the simplest ones can have depth and beauty and can help us understand the most important things in the universe, like our interrelatedness.
I once read an essay by an orthodox Jewish woman explaining the kitchen rituals of food preparation, including the need for separate dishes, dishwashers etc. for meat and dairy. She described how she initially resented it all, found it meaningless. But then one day she realized that she was carrying out a tradition that was literally thousands of years old. She felt connected to all those generations of woman who had followed the same tradition and to all the women across the world who were doing the same thing. Jews, she said, that have so often been scattered from their roots, were connected in a very profound way through these traditions. It gave her joy and an important sense of belonging to something large.
Islam has a ritual of praying in unison five times a day. It is a powerful pause in the day’s activities to remember the “big picture” and express gratitude and reverence for the whole. It is so easy to get caught up in life but 5 times a day all Muslims have an opportunity to connect to their international community and life itself.
The Buddhist monks make beautiful, intricate mandalas out of sand. They may spend many days on an elaborate and often breathtaking mandala. And then, almost immediately upon completion – no pictures, no time to send a iphone image to mom – the sand is scrapped into a greyish looking pile and disposed of. The lesson is one of detachment and acceptance of impermanence. Something can be very beautiful, but being “attached”, or trying to hold onto such things is a source of terrible suffering. Change is, and always will be a constant. Resisting change brings pain. We could all learn to let go of those things we feel are so important.
It seems to me that Christian Communion is one of the most powerful religious reminders of our interconnectedness. Eating together is always a communion of a sort and for the whole congregation and indeed congregations across the world to take part in this ritual of sharing bread and wine can have a deep effect on people if they choose.
Some Christians believe the bread and wine is not symbolic, but is the actualflesh and blood of Jesus of Nazareth, which of course sounds pretty creepy. But to symbolically take in the body of one who lived an admirable life and is a compelling image of the oneness of humanity, can be life-enhancing and a reminder sacred within us all.
Christian baptism, as practiced by John the Baptist was a symbolic “washing” away the wrongs a person feels he or she has committed, and a catalyst to self- forgiveness. Today, it is a ceremony usually performed on babies, likely unencumbered by evil past deeds. Nonetheless, it remains important as a formal introduction of the child to the community. Often, members are specifically assigned as “godparents” with a special concern for the child’s welfare. Together, members of the community welcome the child and commit to providing for it.
Of course, the list of beautiful religious and cultural rituals is long, and they all, at their best provide ways to help us experience our shared divinity and call us to broaden ourselves.
Trouble is – we humans have a habit of taking the cheap way out and in doing so, cheapening the sacred. Rather than deeply pondering these rituals and letting them change us, many cultures and religions, over time, have come to see the rituals themselves, not the deep symbolism, as important. We perform these acts because we are told to and/or we are afraid not to, which immediately degrades any value it might have. We start putting magical properties on the rituals, as if the rituals themselves will do something for us.
In that incessant need humans have to get all our ducks in a row - or at least get other humans under our control - some religions that will insist that only rituals of their particular traditions are valid and, those who do not perform them will suffer serious consequences.
One of many examples is Baptism. Some teach that without Christian baptism a soul will spend eternity burning in hell. For centuries, largely because of the teaching of St Augustine, it was believed that infants who died before they could be baptized would spend eternity crying from the lake of fire in constant torment. One can only imagine the suffering this caused to countless parents over the ages. But even today, many people are so convinced of the supernatural properties of these types of rituals that they suffer terribly when loved ones of a different tradition choose not to go through the motions of certain rituals.
Many years ago my aunt, a good Catholic, caused family discord when she insisted my dying mother, an equally good Episcopalian, receive the last rites from the Catholic church. She was also distressed that my mother had chosen cremation. At the time the Catholic Church taught this would destroy ones chances of resurrection into heaven. I was young, and in no way sympathetic to what I considered to be an overbearing effort by my aunt to take advantage of my mother’s vulnerability and force unwanted religious practices on her. As I look back on it, I appreciate the anxiety my aunt was experiencing. She truly cared about my mother and did not want to see her chance for a joyful afterlife destroyed my a stubborn refusal to engage in simple rituals. My aunt experienced significant anguish over this, probably until she herself died a few years later.
Rituals that originally came about to help us connect with the whole, with each other, and with the divine, often become tools of division. Instead of broadening us, they can narrow us into our own fears and become tools to inflict misery.
It behooves us to look for the beauty, life-enhancing and joyful meanings of the rituals in our lives while avoid meanings that feed our prejudices, and reduce the sacred to mechanical acts.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Rocky Relationship
My relationship with God, and organized religion, has been a bit checkered. As a child I was a good Lutheran, attending Sunday school, and proudly plunking my sacrificial dime in the collection plate every week. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of vacation bible school where we colored and sang and praised the Lord. I, of course, didn’t have a clue as to what it was all about, but it was pleasant, I had friends and I was particularly fond of the large picture of Jesus sitting with children on his lap. He looked like a nice man and I was a child in need of a nice man in my life.
When I was about 12 we became Episcopalians. Bad timing. I didn’t know anyone at the new church, didn’t like the building, hated the unfamiliar folderol in their service. They were forever standing up and kneeling and who knows what, or when your were supposed to do that. We Lutherans sat still and behaved ourselves. And, I was at that special age where being my own person was important and being dragged to my parent's new church just didn’t fit with "my own person." Yeah I went, but I decided these Episcopalians, and by association, God, his son and that ghost (whatever that was all about) were suspect.
By the time I reached college I had morphed into a fundamentalism atheist. You know the type - if you don’t see it my way you are an idiot and would be damned, if I believed in such a thing. That’s the trouble with atheism. We don’t have any horrendous threats to frighten people into buying in with us. So we roll our eyes a lot.
Somewhere in my thirties a brave soul persuaded to read the Sermon on the Mount, Mathew’s interpretation. It sobered me, amazed me. Really. This short dissertation was remarkably simple and yet breathtakingly poignant. It occurred to me that if we all, or even just some of us, actually took that discourse to heart, it we would have a very different world.
This guy, Jesus, did not abide excuses. If you have a problem with somebody else – swallow your pride, engage whatever courage you have and go make it right. And don’t go genuflecting to God until you have.
That one hit home.
Devotions are not for show - drop the hypocrisy. It is what you do, not what you say that matters.
Ok, been there, done that.
And of course that bit about checking out the 2x4 in your own eye before you get all self-righteousey about the sawdust in someone else’s . . . he’s on to us, with a sense of humor to boot.
No doubt I had heard these same words as a child. But reading them as an adult was a whole new kettle of fish. That seemingly unremarkable little phrase (Matthew whatever) “Eliminate all hate” to a 9-year-old was pretty easy to deal with. The only person I figured I really hated was my big brother; since Jesus had no brothers, or so I thought, he could have no comprehension of just what I was dealing with. Clearly this admonition could be dismissed. As an adult I realized that these three words carried a challenge that could consume a lifetime and demand unprecedented humility and courage. This phrase had the power to change the world.
Maybe, just maybe, there was something in this religion stuff I had missed. Maybe worth another peek.
From that time to the present I’ve been interested in religion as a phenomenon – where does it come from, what purpose does it serve? How is it relevant? Where is it not? I have read the basic texts of a lot of religions, the bible, the Koran, the Drammadapada, some of the Upanishads, Tao Te Ch’ing, and the writings of Confucius as well as various interpretations and ancient and modern analyses of these documents. The similarity and universality of the teachings is mind-blowing.
W.S. Merwin, the U.S. poet Laureate, and a Buddhist, recently said “Take them away, names like Buddhism. I’m impatient with them. There’s something beyond all that, beneath all that that they all share, that they all come from. They are branches from a single root.”
That root, I believe has something to do with deep spiritual sense of interconnectedness within all of us and the reality that we live in.
And yet, we still find ways to fight, and fight viciously about the truths common to all of us. Why, despite the eloquence, wisdom, and similarities of the basic teachings of all the major religions, do we stumble so often? The, not uncommon, dreadful interpretations and distortions that all religions have put on the wisdom passed onto us and on the concept of “God” over time has been discouraging. But wisdom is still there if we will look.
So, the insights in my little garden were not particularly original; nothing much that I had not read or heard elsewhere. Rather the experience was more like that of the aging minister who has an epiphany one Saturday evening and excitedly begins his sermon the next morning shouting “Its true, its all true!”
When I was about 12 we became Episcopalians. Bad timing. I didn’t know anyone at the new church, didn’t like the building, hated the unfamiliar folderol in their service. They were forever standing up and kneeling and who knows what, or when your were supposed to do that. We Lutherans sat still and behaved ourselves. And, I was at that special age where being my own person was important and being dragged to my parent's new church just didn’t fit with "my own person." Yeah I went, but I decided these Episcopalians, and by association, God, his son and that ghost (whatever that was all about) were suspect.
By the time I reached college I had morphed into a fundamentalism atheist. You know the type - if you don’t see it my way you are an idiot and would be damned, if I believed in such a thing. That’s the trouble with atheism. We don’t have any horrendous threats to frighten people into buying in with us. So we roll our eyes a lot.
Somewhere in my thirties a brave soul persuaded to read the Sermon on the Mount, Mathew’s interpretation. It sobered me, amazed me. Really. This short dissertation was remarkably simple and yet breathtakingly poignant. It occurred to me that if we all, or even just some of us, actually took that discourse to heart, it we would have a very different world.
This guy, Jesus, did not abide excuses. If you have a problem with somebody else – swallow your pride, engage whatever courage you have and go make it right. And don’t go genuflecting to God until you have.
That one hit home.
Devotions are not for show - drop the hypocrisy. It is what you do, not what you say that matters.
Ok, been there, done that.
And of course that bit about checking out the 2x4 in your own eye before you get all self-righteousey about the sawdust in someone else’s . . . he’s on to us, with a sense of humor to boot.
No doubt I had heard these same words as a child. But reading them as an adult was a whole new kettle of fish. That seemingly unremarkable little phrase (Matthew whatever) “Eliminate all hate” to a 9-year-old was pretty easy to deal with. The only person I figured I really hated was my big brother; since Jesus had no brothers, or so I thought, he could have no comprehension of just what I was dealing with. Clearly this admonition could be dismissed. As an adult I realized that these three words carried a challenge that could consume a lifetime and demand unprecedented humility and courage. This phrase had the power to change the world.
Maybe, just maybe, there was something in this religion stuff I had missed. Maybe worth another peek.
From that time to the present I’ve been interested in religion as a phenomenon – where does it come from, what purpose does it serve? How is it relevant? Where is it not? I have read the basic texts of a lot of religions, the bible, the Koran, the Drammadapada, some of the Upanishads, Tao Te Ch’ing, and the writings of Confucius as well as various interpretations and ancient and modern analyses of these documents. The similarity and universality of the teachings is mind-blowing.
W.S. Merwin, the U.S. poet Laureate, and a Buddhist, recently said “Take them away, names like Buddhism. I’m impatient with them. There’s something beyond all that, beneath all that that they all share, that they all come from. They are branches from a single root.”
That root, I believe has something to do with deep spiritual sense of interconnectedness within all of us and the reality that we live in.
And yet, we still find ways to fight, and fight viciously about the truths common to all of us. Why, despite the eloquence, wisdom, and similarities of the basic teachings of all the major religions, do we stumble so often? The, not uncommon, dreadful interpretations and distortions that all religions have put on the wisdom passed onto us and on the concept of “God” over time has been discouraging. But wisdom is still there if we will look.
So, the insights in my little garden were not particularly original; nothing much that I had not read or heard elsewhere. Rather the experience was more like that of the aging minister who has an epiphany one Saturday evening and excitedly begins his sermon the next morning shouting “Its true, its all true!”
Humility
I sat back in my plastic chair, feet up on the strawberry pot, and surveyed the foot high raised beds filled with quality soil and, for the time being, plant free. The square and triangular beds lined up in straight rows, the paths were neat and the trellis, though bare, were sturdy and ready to offer support. The sun shown and the world felt full of promise. My husband and I had built something remarkable.
It was time for that next all important step. I had several envelopes of seeds. I opened one of “Big Boy” tomatoes (not to be confused with “Early Girl”. Where these genders come from is beyond me.) As instructed by various experts in the field I dug an appropriate size hole next to a trellis, dropped in a couple of seeds, and covered them with soil.
There is a line in the movie “Gandhi” where the Mahatma says “it’s always the simple things that take your breath away”. Indeed.
What could be more simple, more mundane, more ridiculously ordinary than a tomato seed. Dry, flat, kind of ugly. Big deal - but suddenly it was.
I poured more of the seeds into my hand and marveled at them, as if I had never seen such things before.
There was no booming voice from heaven, no rainbow across the sky, not even a little burning bush. Just the realization that my mind had opened to a new way of seeing and feeling. When I wasn’t looking, God had strolled up and was winking at me.
I who had basked in the glorious sense of me, and my marvelous garden construction realized I’d been trumped - big time – by a funny looking, common seed. The thing lacked pretense. There was nothing impressive about it. Yet it seemed to shout “Look at me – I am the product of 4 billion years of evolution and full of mysteries of life that are beyond your comprehension! I am capable of becoming a large living thing that will convert carbon dioxide and water into food and oxygen! Can you do that? Further, I have the capacity to reproduce myself thousands of times over.” This lowly seed represented the culmination of a journey that began with the big bang and could continue into the far reaches of the future. As Gandhi said, it took my breath away.
I am hardly the first to be struck by this perception. I suspect that most love of farming and gardening comes from an understanding – not necessarily literal – of the miracle of life that a seed or a plant represents. Brother Lawrence, a 17th century Carmelite lay brother credits the twig on a dormant, and seemingly dead, tree for his first understanding of God. The recognition of the life and potential within this mundane stick overwhelmed and humbled him.
“Gazing at the tree, Herman grasped for the first time the extravagance of God's grace and the unfailing sovereignty of divine providence. Like the tree, he himself was seemingly dead, but God had life waiting for him, and the turn of seasons would bring fullness. At that moment, he said, that leafless tree "first flashed in upon my soul the fact of God”.
(http://www.ccel.org/l/lawrence)
Of course, Brother Lawrence had no understanding of DNA, and the extraordinary methods, both deceptively simple and staggeringly complicated that God uses to move life forward. He could not know that life and the “unfailing sovereignty of divine providence” is contained in complex tiny arrangements of simple sugars and acids. He was unaware that the dormancy of the twig or the seed is not death but a stage of life determined by those chemical arrangements. But he didn’t need to know. He just needed to be present in the moment and willing to be amazed.
There are those who feel that our modern knowledge of some of life’s mysteries takes away from the awesomeness and magnitude of nature. I disagree. To me, understanding some of the mechanics of life enhances appreciation and the wonder of it. That I can share similar DNA with an avocado, or an earthworm is incredible and increases my respect for the inexplicability of existence. We humans have a tendency to want to separate ourselves out from the rest of life. We are “special”. Alas, humility does not come easily to the human animal. In fact we all come from the same place and are inexorably linked to all of nature.
Such human hubris has prevented most of us from appreciating the depth and staggering splendor in all of nature, even the most unassuming representatives. But for a moment, through no effort of my own, I was able to cut through my arrogance and get a glimpse of the magnitude of nature and reality. I pondered the ugly, unassuming tomato seed; grandeur in a commonplace container, and saw the miraculous.
It was time for that next all important step. I had several envelopes of seeds. I opened one of “Big Boy” tomatoes (not to be confused with “Early Girl”. Where these genders come from is beyond me.) As instructed by various experts in the field I dug an appropriate size hole next to a trellis, dropped in a couple of seeds, and covered them with soil.
There is a line in the movie “Gandhi” where the Mahatma says “it’s always the simple things that take your breath away”. Indeed.
What could be more simple, more mundane, more ridiculously ordinary than a tomato seed. Dry, flat, kind of ugly. Big deal - but suddenly it was.
I poured more of the seeds into my hand and marveled at them, as if I had never seen such things before.
There was no booming voice from heaven, no rainbow across the sky, not even a little burning bush. Just the realization that my mind had opened to a new way of seeing and feeling. When I wasn’t looking, God had strolled up and was winking at me.
I who had basked in the glorious sense of me, and my marvelous garden construction realized I’d been trumped - big time – by a funny looking, common seed. The thing lacked pretense. There was nothing impressive about it. Yet it seemed to shout “Look at me – I am the product of 4 billion years of evolution and full of mysteries of life that are beyond your comprehension! I am capable of becoming a large living thing that will convert carbon dioxide and water into food and oxygen! Can you do that? Further, I have the capacity to reproduce myself thousands of times over.” This lowly seed represented the culmination of a journey that began with the big bang and could continue into the far reaches of the future. As Gandhi said, it took my breath away.
I am hardly the first to be struck by this perception. I suspect that most love of farming and gardening comes from an understanding – not necessarily literal – of the miracle of life that a seed or a plant represents. Brother Lawrence, a 17th century Carmelite lay brother credits the twig on a dormant, and seemingly dead, tree for his first understanding of God. The recognition of the life and potential within this mundane stick overwhelmed and humbled him.
“Gazing at the tree, Herman grasped for the first time the extravagance of God's grace and the unfailing sovereignty of divine providence. Like the tree, he himself was seemingly dead, but God had life waiting for him, and the turn of seasons would bring fullness. At that moment, he said, that leafless tree "first flashed in upon my soul the fact of God”.
(http://www.ccel.org/l/lawrence)
Of course, Brother Lawrence had no understanding of DNA, and the extraordinary methods, both deceptively simple and staggeringly complicated that God uses to move life forward. He could not know that life and the “unfailing sovereignty of divine providence” is contained in complex tiny arrangements of simple sugars and acids. He was unaware that the dormancy of the twig or the seed is not death but a stage of life determined by those chemical arrangements. But he didn’t need to know. He just needed to be present in the moment and willing to be amazed.
There are those who feel that our modern knowledge of some of life’s mysteries takes away from the awesomeness and magnitude of nature. I disagree. To me, understanding some of the mechanics of life enhances appreciation and the wonder of it. That I can share similar DNA with an avocado, or an earthworm is incredible and increases my respect for the inexplicability of existence. We humans have a tendency to want to separate ourselves out from the rest of life. We are “special”. Alas, humility does not come easily to the human animal. In fact we all come from the same place and are inexorably linked to all of nature.
Such human hubris has prevented most of us from appreciating the depth and staggering splendor in all of nature, even the most unassuming representatives. But for a moment, through no effort of my own, I was able to cut through my arrogance and get a glimpse of the magnitude of nature and reality. I pondered the ugly, unassuming tomato seed; grandeur in a commonplace container, and saw the miraculous.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Beginnings
Starting out.
We’d made attempts at gardening this awkward side yard off and on for 30 years. If we were lucky we would have tomatoes – at least until the summer heat hit and they needed regular watering to survive. This "regular watering" thing was never my strong suit. I’m probably the only person alive who has planted a whole six pack of zucchini and had narry a squash to eat. Obviously, gardening was too difficult, and I simply didn’t have the proverbial green thumb.
Three things happened recently. First, I retired. One does not need to be retired to have a wonderful garden. But for me it eliminated my ubiquitous whiny excuse “I don’t have time”. Second, I read Michael Pollen’s book “The Omnivores Dilemma” which, to be honest, gave me a whole new perspective on this whole food thing and the value of being more involved in its production. Third, the teacher who took over the position from which I retired, was becoming a father, and asked me to substitute for his classes for a couple of weeks. Suddenly, I had $1000 that was unexpected and, more importantly, unspoken for.
Time to build a real garden. A few books were an initial requirement – just how does one go about this if one actually wants to grow something. A plan was drawn up and supplies were ordered. A dozen 2 inch by 12 feet boards, nails, screws, organic garden soil, material for trellises and, the all important components of a drip watering system.
I designed, my husband sawed and together we nailed and screwed and came up with 8 raised beds of assorted shapes to accommodate the triangular shaped plot of land. The 2’ paths were covered with “weed fabric” and bark. A watering system was installed and trellises were build of pvc pipe and rebar.
Off in one corner we put two “eco-compost bins" - I was taking Pollen seriously. Waste turned into compost, which would nurture the plants, which would feed us and create more waste. Something like that.
In the center of this garden was an empty spot, a triangle about 5 feet on each side, a central hub of sorts. Seemed a waste of space; I put a large pot of strawberry plants and a cheap molded plastic chair there, for lack of something better.
It was a thing of beauty – if you overlooked the air-conditioner on one side, and the far point that still retained an unkempt jungle feel and, of course, that ugly chair in the middle.
We’d made attempts at gardening this awkward side yard off and on for 30 years. If we were lucky we would have tomatoes – at least until the summer heat hit and they needed regular watering to survive. This "regular watering" thing was never my strong suit. I’m probably the only person alive who has planted a whole six pack of zucchini and had narry a squash to eat. Obviously, gardening was too difficult, and I simply didn’t have the proverbial green thumb.
Three things happened recently. First, I retired. One does not need to be retired to have a wonderful garden. But for me it eliminated my ubiquitous whiny excuse “I don’t have time”. Second, I read Michael Pollen’s book “The Omnivores Dilemma” which, to be honest, gave me a whole new perspective on this whole food thing and the value of being more involved in its production. Third, the teacher who took over the position from which I retired, was becoming a father, and asked me to substitute for his classes for a couple of weeks. Suddenly, I had $1000 that was unexpected and, more importantly, unspoken for.
Time to build a real garden. A few books were an initial requirement – just how does one go about this if one actually wants to grow something. A plan was drawn up and supplies were ordered. A dozen 2 inch by 12 feet boards, nails, screws, organic garden soil, material for trellises and, the all important components of a drip watering system.
I designed, my husband sawed and together we nailed and screwed and came up with 8 raised beds of assorted shapes to accommodate the triangular shaped plot of land. The 2’ paths were covered with “weed fabric” and bark. A watering system was installed and trellises were build of pvc pipe and rebar.
Off in one corner we put two “eco-compost bins" - I was taking Pollen seriously. Waste turned into compost, which would nurture the plants, which would feed us and create more waste. Something like that.
In the center of this garden was an empty spot, a triangle about 5 feet on each side, a central hub of sorts. Seemed a waste of space; I put a large pot of strawberry plants and a cheap molded plastic chair there, for lack of something better.
It was a thing of beauty – if you overlooked the air-conditioner on one side, and the far point that still retained an unkempt jungle feel and, of course, that ugly chair in the middle.
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