The Seed of Redemption

It is cold down here, and dark.  I feel dread, and the agony of having been abandoned, and the piercing pain of knowing that those walking in the light above are only too satisfied to not have to think about me as they go on with their lives.

How did this happen?  What did I do to justify being condemned for a season to the valley of the shadow of death?  My heart is shattered and my very being seems to collapse upon itself from the shock to which I have been exposed

Who will help me?  Who will even notice my need?  To whom can I turn?

Imagine if a seed could talk.  Imagine if every castoff hope and dream and relationship lost to the dark could speak.

Worst of all, imagine, worst that we are responsible for planning the seeds of our own souls into the wrong soil….

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These early spring days, I find myself twitchy, as you probably do, to plant something green into the chilly soil of a long outlived mud season.

The options are endless.  Shall I make a new pollinator bed?  Or is this the year to do container tomatoes?

But a seasoned gardener knows well that there is a step before this.  It is the messy, unglamourous, arduous step of reckoning with the powerful forces of darkness.

Not all seeds produce.  Many fail to germinate.  Others are starved of necessary moisture and warmth.  Some sprout and grow diseased.  Some just outgrow their space in the garden.

The tiny crimson tips of my emerging peonies have appeared, but beside them stands the frost-burnt azalea.  The time has come to dig it out.  The kousa dogwood, too, will have to go, a casualty of overcrowding.

It is hard to talk about suffering when we so urgently long for sunshine, lilacs and a new baseball season. But it is as much a part of our lives as are the flowers.  Good seed can fail in all sorts of ways.

Suffering comes in many forms, but we often waste valuable soul energy wrestling with the whys when we might, with the help of a compassionate friend or helping hand, turn into it so that we fend off the despair that can settle into the soil of our beings like the seed at the opening of this story.

This is a good season to learn to be wise gardeners of our own soil.  I need the warmth of my friends, my husband and son.  I need to cuddle with my aged cat, who is constantly looking for the next treat.  I need the regular watering of inspiration from my creative friends, and the silence of early-morning reflection in which to remember, make peace with what has been lost or buried, and prepare the soil to receive new varieties of seed.

Good voices in our midst can help guide us to become such cultivators.  To choose our planting locations well, to select only the healthiest of seeds, to water with intention:

Thich Nhat Hanh writes, “Through the practice of deep looking, we can identify the positive seeds that we want to water every day, and train ourselves not to water the negative ones.  This is called ‘selective watering.’  The Buddha recommended methods for doing this, and even a few day of this practice can bring about a transformation.”

As we learn to practice compassion towards our own garden plots, we will become better able to share generative light and warmth with others.

I end with a stanza from John O’Donohue’s blessing, “For Freedom”

As the embrace of the earth

Welcomes all we call death,

Taking deep into itself

The tight solitude of a seed,

Allowing it time

To shed the grip of former form

And give way to a deeper generosity

That will one day send it forth,

A tree into springtime,

May all that holds you

Fall from its hungry ledge

Into the fecund surge of your heart.

                  (from To Bless the Space Between Us)

May your gardens thrive!