I had the feeling last week that I could "hear" the garden speaking to me, and yesterday again I felt that connection with my little plot of ground that I so cherished with my larger garden in Indy. It was this connection -- practical and pragmatic as well as spiritual -- that sent me searching for others who experienced the same depth of feeling and introduced me to the Findhorn Foundation and the email group from around the world that I have been in touch with since the early 90's. It is the grounding of spirit that I've relied upon for many years for spiritual sustenance and for a long time did not question. And it is a connection that I feared I had lost in Madison -- this small, very much surrounded by neighbors and traffic patch of garden. It was during my second summer in Madison, working on the garden that I realized the silence of it. Now, really I don't hear, in the conventional sense of hearing, the garden talking to me. (Didn't prince Charles have that "problem"?) But I became aware that I did not have any gut feelings for where plants belongs or what needed to be done. One of the real joys of gardening for me was always to come home from working at the court in Indy and to go into the back garden and putter -- allowing myself to roam from task to task -- cleaning the pond, deadheading, weeding a bit, stirring the compost. Allowing the garden to inform my choice of what to do, what needed to be done. It might sound a bit wonky to those without a connection to gardens or the earth, but the plants would let me know when it was time to dig up and divide, they would let me know where it was that they would like to be moved to. And it wasn't that one of them would tap me on the shoulder, it wasn't anything silly or spooky at all, just a natural flow.
And it was such peace.
And that was missing here in Madison. Yes, it was probably due to change, to moving, to trying so hard to be in tune with Julia and her needs, to David's growing health problems, and my own confusion over work life and vocation. And maybe finding it again, now, for the first time here, is the first fruit of my intention to lie fallow for a year. Maybe I am getting to the place of being open and able to listen. Vulnerable but with feet very much planted in the present.
The garden divas are dancing in my Madison garden and for that I am so grateful.