There is something about digging one’s hands deep into the earth and sifting through the living mass of soil...
For years, I sought a spiritual practice that would bring me closer to that which is beyond. I sought a sort of ethereal connection to something greater than myself.
Raised in the Roman Catholic faith; there were many years in my youth when I believed that I had found it. Prayer was a powerful and intentional means of communicating with God; and I used to fall into a stupor listening to the hymns and songs of praise that resonated through the church on Sunday mornings. I still get chills when I listen to any kind of praise or hymn. At the tender age of fifteen, I was even convinced that my life’s path might be one of religious devotion. I remember excitedly taking an informational card about becoming a nun, at one of our youth group’s many regional gatherings. I imagined days devoted to prayer, study, and devotional work; and my heart swelled at the thought of being able to commit myself to all that was unseen.
It was just a few short months later that my vision began to crumble as I started to understand the realities and limitations of a church built and run by very human individuals who had their own agendas and failings. I also didn’t realize it fully at the time, but my gradual disconnection from religion itself; was not only a realization of its many hypocrisies, but also the very slow blossoming of my own queer identity (something that would take a further 15+ years to fully understand).
However, to this day, there are still elements of religious devotion that can render me enthralled; a perfect rendition of Ave Maria still has the power to make me weepy.
In my early twenties and thirties; I started to explore filling the spiritual void with New Age spiritualism, Yoga, East Asian religions, and more; desperately searching for that long desired sense of mystery and metaphysical connection.
But, at every turn, there was something that was lacking in the way in the way I connected to each particular practice or philosophy. It only took me about a half a second to realize that much of the New Age spiritualism was deeply unstructured and highly individualistic. There was a great deal of hubris and harm consistently perpetrated under the guide of “honoring higher vibrations” and “listening to spirit”. There was no accountability to community or lineage. And, while I dabbled in studies of Buddhism, Zen, Reiki, etc. I always felt a bit more like a visitor rather than an active participant.
When I found my way into the Yoga world; or more aptly the accessible Yoga world; for another split second, I thought I had found “it”. The practice, the lineage, and the devotional aspects were aligned with what I was looking for, but there was still a cultural barrier. I wanted to practice a form of Yoga that was hard to find in the world I lived in. Here in the west, we have watered down the spiritual and replaced it with sweaty athleticism. We have taken the mythology and meditations; and pruned away the richness to make them palatable to consumers. For about five years, I held fast to teaching and practicing daily, trying to make it work; but alas, when the day came that circumstances in my life allowed me an easy exit from the “official” title of teacher, I took it without hesitation.
I still practice Yoga and Meditation; but as a deeply personal practice, which I occasionally still share in community with friends and family whom I have built deep relationship with, but it is no longer the integral piece that guides my spiritual practice.
That came from the garden.
I remember, even as a very young child, being completely enraptured by the magic of plants. I used to hide behind the air conditioning unit outside my bedroom window, mixing batches of dried corn kernels and seeds, into containers with apple tree leaves, and mustard flowers. I used to watch the flowers of the fruit orchard blossom and swell into the sweet delights of the season. And, even though I never fancied myself a gardener in my young adulthood; I somehow managed to lug a beloved potted lavender with me to every house and apartment we lived in. I never passed up the opportunity to buy fresh flowers for the dining room table and I delighted in knowing the names of the countless plants and trees along my weekly hikes.
When the Covid pandemic rolled around in 2020; like many folks, I used the global pause, to find some hobbies; and not so surprisingly decided it was the perfect time to start really expanding my garden. Up until that point, while I had joyfully started my first white sage, elderberry, and Matilija poppy; I only occasionally would pop a tomato plant in the ground, or try to regrow some celery from the discarded root of my farmer’s market purchase. Until that moment, I had never stopped to consider what I was capable of, if I allowed myself the freedom to start planting in the way I always dreamed.
And, that was the moment; the moment I found everything I had been searching for…buried beneath the layers of soil and sediment.
With every plant I tended, every seed I germinated, and every flower I grew…my heart swelled with a depth of connection I had never truly known. I became utterly devoted; and within three years, my garden had grown 100x over and I now cultivated extensive varieties of food, flowers, native plants, and medicinal herbs.
As the abundance in the earth and in my spirit soared, I began to share this garden wealth with others. An action that would root me into an even more beautiful and harmonious relationship to community care.
Gardening became my way to step outside the everyday and into the spiritual. I practiced my devotions through committed care to the plants that nourished me and my beloveds. I prayed prayers of gratitude as I sat beside the calendula blossoms, gently plucking basketfuls for tea and salves. I found my long lost sense of awe in the hymns of the scrub jays, and the buzzing of bees was the sweetest melody I could imagine. I revered the ways in which the garden flowed with the passing seasons, inviting me to slow down and connect with the natural world around me each day. I became intimate with the cycles of every cultivar in my little homegrown forest.
And, as the garden grew, so did the abundance of life around us. Birds, bugs, and critters of all kinds began to frequent our yard; hoisting themselves beyond the five foot cinderblock wall to explore this lush new Eden within. Just this morning, we had our first pair of quail choose to stop off and venture around the artichoke patch, playing hide and seek beneath the elderberry. The beauty and bounty before them, called too temptingly for them to pass by, as they had so many years prior.
Gardening is hard work. It requires attention and planning; but there is also an element of release and surrender that make the practice of gardening sacred and beautiful. We, as humans, can plan and prep and think we have accounted for every possible scenario; but just as this past winter has shown; abundant rains after seasons of drought; can bring about flourishing populations of squirrels, gophers, rodents and all manner of “destructive pests” we never imagined. I have sadly held the wilted remains of many a plant that has fallen prey to the single gopher that breached the wall and went on a snacking spree. I used to grit my teeth with frustration at every loss and setback. But, the devotional aspect of gardening, allows me to now greet each new challenge as a piece of information to be integrated. It teaches me how I can further enmesh myself into this wondrous web of life, to understand it more fully, and to flow with it just as the rest of creation does.
At times, the more I let go and allow the infinite wisdom and wonder of my plant elders to guide me; the more profoundly they grow and flourish. The more I listen and study at the roots of the trees and sit witness to the miracle of photosynthesis; the more connected I become.
Gardening is my devotion, my church, and my happy place. It is where I find healing, connection, and comfort. The prayer of gardening is one of trust, hope, and kinship; in ourselves and the world.
(c) Lauren Snyder 2024 All Rights Reserved
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