We Are Gardeners ~ A Prayer
We all of us, in our originality, simply by being human and present here in this life-form, we belong, or we are belongings to, in, or of, a garden.
If one can imagine a Rocketship being launched into space. We’ve all seen the images on the TV. Just imagine, why could we not harness all that power, that same energy that goes into launching that spaceship and its payload into space. Close your eyes and picture the launch protocol and all that controlled, combustive energy being manufactured simply to launch the vehicle beyond the limits of gravity.
Imagine then, if humankind had the inherent wherewithal to reach inside the sacred boundary of the atomic structure, then, within, there is also another more traveled pathway, simply by introducing ourselves in a less intrusive way. We could still be able to achieve the same result, by being able to harness that same energy in a more spontaneous, less explosive way. A quieter, more ancient process without tinkering and unauthorized trespass?
Wouldn’t that be tantalizing? Each of us harnessing just one piece of the most elusive aspects of the Finite and be able to “surf” the tides of Infinity, while still maintaining our physical aspect.
Funny, my teachers talked about it and while they did, they’d smile at the few of us! Their wily smiles, wizard old Ladies were my beloved Grannies! They gave nothing away for which we weren’t ready. But as for themselves, they gave everything they knew we were capable of honoring and treating as sacred.
In all aspects of what is good for us, and most importantly, we believe, for everyone else. There is to be found with certainty, a recuperative benefit by offering service in the precincts of a simple garden. If we are so inclined, we can find, meditative/contemplative space, as well as physical exercise when doing gardening work, knowing from experience, that getting one’s gloveless hands “medicated” in the soil while gardening, always ensures a psychological as well as a physiological benefit.
If one is so inclined, gardening, whatever the type or fashion might be – first and foremost, is, an exercise, and, for those who contemplate such things, a coming to understand the creative depth of one’s own spiritual blossoming into the incredible sacred process that is involved, from seed or bulb and then the parenting that is required, until such time of harvesting the fruit, or just witnessing the time when the flowering of one’s effort and labor arrives.
The medicinal reward of that! No different, in terms of effort expended and the loving required than those labors expended and invested upon and in, our own two-legged seeds and bulbs.
Some dads I know might even encourage me in loud voices to say, wasted rather than invested. But after a “stare down,” they finally relent and accept… invested. Dads are like that. Sometimes we forget to remember our own childhood transgressions! I mean a pumpkin seed planted, is in time, a pumpkin recovered. It never turns out to be a watermelon!
One’s mind is often so busy with details, that we forget ~ as one furrows the soil in preparation to planting ~ that one’s hands/fingers, one’s fingertips, some of our most sensitive parts of our physical anatomy, are joined by other arrays of the psychology and resultant personality, either consciously or unconsciously.
All these parts of the human dynamic are being ministered to naturally, whether we are conscious of that happening or not. Hold an awareness of this truth or not! Nature is medicating us!
Simply by being within the garden and “tilling” the soil with your hands, is in the frame of older cultures, especially the one that I know and speak of, as quietly immersing yourself into the sea and the ministrations one receives from that. All alone, on your own in receipt of that Natural TLC.
Both of them Gardens – both the same. One a bed, the other a basin. As my granny said, both are the same moko. Treat them both with respect and care. Listen and speak as though you are gardening and tilling the soil with a hoe. Quietly, respectfully, ironing out the lumps and clumps of soil until everything is fully aerated, softened, evened out. Then allowing a process for everything within the garden to feel exuberant and fully nourished, rather than just being buried, covered over, and left to fend for oneself!
Never forcefully, but lightly. People, like the garden, will respond more fully to what you suggest rather than what you say – in the manner of a soft breeze against the face that touches the heart rather than a whirlwind that gives rise to concern, feelings of trespass, even panic.
As a result, when one is born into a family that has a deep knowledge of the soil and does not disparage a child who enters a garden wearing footwear but takes the time to explain to the youngster that the living soil that he or she will unconsciously remove from the garden on the soles of their footwear will from that moment forth be termed “mud” and will become an “enemy of the so-called civilized world.” So, to ensure that we do nothing to debase a family member of the garden, we walk with our feet bared when entering the garden and we take whatever footwear we do have off at the front door/the gate, when we enter as we would expect any visitor to do the same when they enter one of our sacred “Marae, or Meeting Houses and even our humble homes.
A cardinal lore of ours teaches that when entering a house, any house, one takes our shoes off at the door, as there are living people there. The unseen foreign impediments you have attached to the soles could very well be an enemy to anyone or all the occupants of the house. When one declares, one comes in peace, in friendship – that person, or the leader of that group of people, in our Waitaha understanding of that declaration assumes total responsibility for that solemn oath.
In times of old, if any harm befell that house/marae or member of the family during or immediately after the visit, the sole responsibility for that “deed/happenstance” would or could be blamed on the leader of the visitors, or worse still, the entire group. On the other hand, if it happened within the garden and a resulting crop failure, with no obvious seasonal weather disruption, then people being people, they started looking for someone or something to blame.
A culprit!
We all know the deadly inference of that “I wonder if…” glance, when its being cast toward oneself, even if the caster tries to camouflage their unspoken question behind the most insincere attempts at a smile that turns out all higgly-piggly, lop-sided!
Come a time, we will trust our own undeniable truth to meet such phoniness with the brute force strength of our own undiluted Truth and quite truthfully confront that “unasked” questioner’s question with a simple statement, such as, “If behind your mask of fearlessness, there is a question you would like to pose to me truthfully, I am here and I will listen with the respect that you and your question deserve. Then, I will answer it truthfully in the manner in which you never had the respect to pose the question you really wanted to ask me in the first instance?”
Leadership, role-modeling, and even parental roles demand that type of brutal honesty.
In a paradoxical way, this type of brutality is lighter than a flock of birds, all weighed together – while still in flight!
When a culture’s well-being, even their lives, especially so, were dependent on the seasonal consistency of previous years, taking into consideration its vagaries, lore, was implemented to not stop but rather answer all those human, fear-filled questions that undoubtedly would be asked. Generally, if people don’t have an answer to something, and no previous historical record to follow, they pretend that they do know by making something up and speaking it, or rather, shouting it out in a loud voice, because shouting and, even yelling, is another way of getting one’s point of view across. Our modern-day politics is a prime example of that.
It doesn’t mean it’s the right point, it just means it’s the loudest and humans are intimidated by loud things, especially when those loud things are shouted out to be the factual, evidentiary lived truth of a particular person or better still, a group. It’s always more empowering by stating that one is speaking on behalf of another or others, because it gives more credence to ones statements, and when the person speaking is known to hold a position of speaking on behalf of others, it lends mana or credence to what he, or she, will be saying.
However, one learns to YELL with care and speaking the truth is always the way of least resistance, because words strung together become meaningful when they have a goal of telling or sharing a truth. Those words always find the way of least resistance. You can forget what you’ve said when you tell the truth, because everyone else pays a price, because truth is a gem. They will carry the weightlessness of it forever, filed away in their memory. Tell a lie or tell lies and you’re the only one who will be tasked “not to forget,” because in truth, a lie, is a lie, is a lie. Lies have teeth and they come back to bite the one who offers them.
It all adds up, and as the good book says, “We reap what we sow!”
Not only that, but more importantly, it gives the home people more shoulders to lay the blame on if this particular speaker proves to be a fraud dressed up as a shiny object.
Shouting is done by all shapes and sizes of people. Both women and men, although women have refined their example by sometimes tearfully emoting, which has amazing outcomes, in terms of the believability aspect.
It appears that in some cultures, the louder one shouts his or her particular point-of-view, especially if the shouters personage matches the profile of ones worst nightmare, schoolyard-bully, we all tend to cringe inside, but from somewhere in the depths of some unknown courage we always thought we never had, or common sense, we knew we did, we common-folk, must steadfastly stand and state the plain truth of the matter and categorically declare, “This decent person is masquerading as a bully and therefore, surely up to no good and shouting a lot of nonsense!”
In Maoridom, even though we are fully assimilated, we are made up of tribes based on a common ancestor, and these tribes have their roots of origin in one specific geographical area. Individuals, irrespective of where they live, tend never to lie about their tribe and the area where they originally come from. Individuals may also claim multiple tribal affiliations, as a result of intermarriages generationally on his or her side of the family with other tribes.
New Zealand/Aotearoa is not a very big country and only has a small population, so, everyone, seems to know everyone important in their tribal lineage or who they are related too, because any transgression/s on their part, whatever and wherever that might be, the news of it tends to wind its way home.
Should another tribal member or parties have an offence committed against them at home in New Zealand, by one of our own members, the offence becomes ours as well and report it to the Elders we must. We, each of us, we all, unlike the poor innocent elephant whom we have chosen to misrepresent, have very long memories, and even when the “alleged” guilty one may have long forgotten his (almost always a he) acts of indiscretion, he will be met and asked to answer a few questions truthfully – or else!
Whakama, meaning Shame or Embarrassment in English. The (Wh) in our Maori language is pronounced as an F as in the English language.
The truth BEING STATED, on the other hand, is never screeched, it dresses itself up plainly and simple. It abhors loud colors. Those statements are the ones that enter us, if one
could imagine, like a sonic boom of QUIET. Its after-affects carry the usual telltale signs of wry smiles and unconscious head-nodding.
Truth always gets our automatic permission to enter our closed society of self!
It is said, a truth is a truth is a truth. What we don’t seem to consciously realize is that a simple truth heard, irrespective of its source, acts as a relaxant. A quiet release of a long drawn out, Ahhhhhh! The nodding of the head in silent agreement, accompanied usually by a wry smile.
This is our immediate, human, physical, silent, salute to the Truth Teller.
Sadly, in our busy world, even the Truth Teller misses the cue/salute and as required in a formal military setting, does not return the silent compliment. Imagine what would happen if “one” thanked you for accepting her/his comment/statement as a truth.
Wouldn’t that change a lot of people’s ordinary day into a good day? The automatic expulsion of unconscious bodily tension to our own “Eden” of euphoria.
No matter what, who, or where each of us are, we all carry armor plating against “Incoming.”
Even life partners who may be reading this, know of this. We are EACH OF US, always, or should be, our last line of defense!
At this level of heightened self-awareness, or truthfulness, we become our most beloved’s fiercest protector as well. At times, more so than even THEY!!
Truth is Loves currency.
Talk to me about LOVE – I dare Anyone!
We owe it to that indomitable, “intangible” that is inheritably you, undressed of all your make-up, your dress-ups, yes and even our pretense!
Phew!
And then there is this:
I believe a Universal Deep Truth can truly rock one with a resonance. That short, “out of the blue” statement, which makes one go singularly quiet rather than silent and consciously causes one to close one’s eyes as if one has just completed an incredible meal and you feel replete. Your tummy – your entire physical aspect, does not react in the way it usually does after a meal.
For this particular food fills up another more discerning container – your Heart!
Moments later you realize, your heads been nodding, you’ve closed your watery eyes, your lips are scrunched tightly upward, and you can’t stop your head from nodding like one of those carnival, funny clown smiley faces on a spring, attached to a long stick – just absently nodding.
And you’ve gone quiet while still nodding, and some of you have also become tearful.
Because this has nothing to do with the physical aspect, although we telegraph/emote our reciprocity through the only means consciously available – our physical! We are in fact thanking the Truthteller in the simplest most meaningful way we can for speaking our original language to us,
Truth-Telling.
The Ancient International Language that gets conveniently left on the wayside, when our pathway gets over-cluttered and our footing becomes uncertain and we prefer in those circumstances that our path be lit with a “fabulous” type of certainty that as soon as a Lie has been verbalized, it becomes a crater in one’s heart. Like those ones on the Moons surface – lifeless!
However, on the other hand, on hearing what you believe to be the truth, one suffers all the effects of being in the immediate vicinity of a blast. The same happens on hearing a Lie. One has an effect, the other has an affect. No matter the subtlety of difference, if one is without favor, one can call it what it is, or call it what one wants it to be!
Rather, in this instance of a truth being told, or truth-telling, your entire “being” acts as though there has been an unfelt, unsensed vibration that has sweetly filled all of you. Everything!
Sadly, in all of this – so momentarily, lightening-swiftly-fast, we end up, as we sometimes do, distrusting ourselves, believing that we had simply imagined it all.
But good news! Our Conscience, that One who does not lie, steps forth as the Storekeeper on our behalf. The One who holds in safekeeping our wry smiles as well. Just in Case! And all is well.