Garden of Love

I've been thinking about the Garden of Love today, as I was digging in my garden. Making a garden is a labour of love, and love, like a garden, must be nurtured and tended to. It was hard work with the pick, and as I turned over the soil and pulled out broken roots and rhizomes, I alternated through various states of presence and reverie. When working with a pick, you must always try and be present. They are such heavy tools. If not mindful of its weight, of the heaviness of it in your hands, and it is very easy to hurt oneself. So most of the time I was very present, and because of this I lost track of time. The first photo shows the outcome of my labours. A garden bed that is almost ready for planting. The second photo shows what was there before. I'm not sure what sort of plants they were, but they weren't very beautiful. The earth was full of their rhizomes, and I'm hoping that they do not reappear! I plan to plant a Weeping Cherry, that will grow heavy with snowy blossoms in the spring. Also some Azaleas. I had originally thought that Alba Azeleas would be lovely, with their crisp white flowers, but today I saw an Azelea that had soft pinky-lavender flowers that was just beautiful. So perhaps I'll do a mixture.

Love, like gardening, takes effort. To start afresh, requires thoughtful reflection of what was before, and why it wasn't working, why it had to change. Gardening like love can be satisfying, and if our garden is beautiful, then we may find that our ego attaches to it.

If our garden is edible, then there is a different pleasure that we derive from our garden. A hark back to a more self sufficient way of living, perhaps? A sense of connectedness to the earth, maybe? Despite gardens and lovers, we are ultimately just who we are.