Gardening Wisdom

Gardening is cheaper than therapy, and you get tomatoes.

Anonymous

Mindfulness is a practice which has become greatly accessible to people of all traditions and faiths. Often sought as a remedy for excess mind activity and turbulent emotions, many people don't quite know why they are drawn to it - they just know they feel more balanced, centred and happy by having this practice in their lives. Mindfulness teaches the fundamentals of meditation and of present-moment awareness.

This practice is of immense value as it teaches us self-awareness - we become aware of our habitual patterns of thought. We begin to see how much of our day is taken up with worries, stress and ruminating over situations past or future. It reminds us to bring our awareness back to our immediate current situation, our immediate activity, surroundings and bodily sensations. It trains us to create an internal anchor such as the breath or anchored awareness of our body in the immediate moment. This action of continually returning to present-moment awareness is meditation, it is mindfulness.

By locating our attention on our immediate surroundings, we are dropping an anchor into the deepest and calmest part of the ocean. It steadies our erratic movements, and gives us a chance to look around and get our bearings. Present-moment awareness is naturally calm and it slows and soothes both mind and emotions. Because of our deepening self-awareness, we come to know ourselves very well. Dedicated practice over time habituates us to fresh moment-by-moment awareness, and centres us in our true nature. Through longer and more focussed meditation practice, we learn to recognise ourselves, and learn to recognise Presence. 

Take a look at a gardener at work, or anyone who works physically with their hands. A rhythm comes upon them and a natural ease in their movements. They are not in a rush. Years have taught them that there will be more weeds tomorrow, so they just do what they can today. They witness their thoughts and bodies relaxing as they focus fully on the work. They always pause to look around the whole garden as a complete entity, to search for ideas and inspiration for the next season's planting, and to decide what needs pruning later in the autumn.

They always take time to stop at their favourite flower in bloom. They take time to smell the roses, to water the dry patches, to tend the seedlings, to thin out the carrots, to rub the cat that loves visiting her owner in this space. They see which plants are struggling and which ones are taking over, and they have no problem pruning and removing plants, and relegating them to the compost heap. They know the overall garden rhythm. It is all natural.

Some days, they will even go out and attack the garden with tools and clippers with a whole load of steam built up inside. After an hour, the higher balance of nature will have exhausted them, and unleashed their steam. They return to themselves. Even as the gardener is slowed by age and arthritis, they know every inch of this familiar landscape, and find a spot to sit where Presence is loud, and the heart becomes still.

Any practice that brings us home to ourselves is a gift to be cherished and an activity to pursue with priority for all our days. This is effortless mindfulness. We may go for another round of golf, another choir practice, a music gig, a leisurely walk or run in the park, T'ai Chi, or some Meditation or Centering Prayer - whatever brings us home. We all benefit when we are around people who know themselves deeply, know and practise their divine practice, and share Presence by their presence. 

We spend our lives hurrying away from the real, as though it were deadly to us. "It must be up there somewhere on the horizon," we think. And all the time it is in the soil, right beneath our feet.

William Bryant Logan, Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth

Pure Heart, Enlightened Mind

A friend of mine recently handed me a copy of this book which I had come across many years ago, but had never quite got around to reading. It tells the story of Maura (Soshin-san) O'Halloran, an Irish-American Catholic woman who was one of the very few women ever to be allowed to train at a male-dominated traditional Zen monastery in Japan. She was ordained a Zen Buddhist monk in 1982.


She was born in Boston in 1955, the daughter of an Irish father and American mother. They moved to Ireland when she was four. She spent most of her youth in Ireland, though the entire family along with her five younger siblings also spent time in Boston, and especially in Maine where her maternal grandmother lived. Her father died suddenly in a road accident when she was 14. She was very socially aware, and became active for social justice while attending Trinity College in Dublin, and during her early working life. She was a courageous and adventurous traveller, at times braving solo travel through Central and South America.


At some point during this time, she became drawn to the conviction that the social changes she longed for in her environment could possibly be more effectively brought about by changing oneself, rather than seeking to change others or institutions. Inspired by a family friend, she decided to visit Japan, to deepen her own meditation practice and to study Zen. She was very aware that control over her thoughts and mental processes was key to her sense of well-being and happiness. The book, told through her own journal accounts of her three years in Japan, give great insight into daily monastic life at two Japanese Buddhist monasteries under a master Zen tutor (Roshi). We learn about her life there, about Zen, about the sacred moments, the squabbles and the cultural diversities. Her journals also reveal her loving and open relationships with her family and many friends.

Of late I feel ridiculously happy. No reason. Just bursting with joy... Now I'm 26, and I feel as if I've lived my life... Any desires, ambitions, hopes I may have had have either been fulfilled or spontaneously dissipated. I'm totally content.

This is one of those books where you find shelter. It is at times heartbreakingly moving and inspiring in its description of human effort, surrender of self, and realisation of the divine inner nature, or enlightened Buddha-nature to use Zen terminology. For me it was a pilgrimage, read during a recent short hospital stay. This time saw her transformed by her dedicated heart, heavy work load and prolonged meditation training into a Zen monk and master in her own right. She is now recognised in Japan, and by all those who have been touched by her story, as a Zen saint. In 1982, at the age of 27, Maura died suddenly in a bus accident, while travelling in Thailand on her return journey home.

Maura was engaged with the honorary role of monastery chef, but her daily workload often consisted of long arduous hours of cleaning, cooking, gardening and sewing. She had help at times from other monks, but remained primarily self-motivated to seeing work as a continuation of her Zen practice. Over time, she solved the various koans (Zen riddles), worked tirelessly to prepare for extended Zen retreats, engaged in the Zen practice of begging/blessing (Takuhatsu), often in freezing temperatures and snow while wearing only straw sandals, and long periods of sitting meditation including overnight meditation while getting one hour's sleep sitting upright. Her Zen practice became a minute by minute dedication to the task at hand with full focus, attention and presence. This was her primary training, life itself. Through this, she achieved great spiritual breakthroughs, and came into a deep sense of peace, surrender and self-abandonment, while growing in inner contentment, acceptance and joy.

Everything seems wonderful. Even undesirable, painful conditions have a poignant beauty and exaltation. So in a sense I feel I have died; for myself there is nothing else to strive after, nothing more to make my life worthwhile or to justify it. 

As she immersed herself more and more in her work and Zen practice, her own needs and desires further dissolved, and she became dedicated to helping others. The journey of her discipline and mindfulness practice is altogether uplifting and inspiring, and clearly puts our daily grumbles into perspective. Maura's journals take you on your own retreat with her. You appreciate her struggles to overcome her own conditioning, as well as her moments of hardship and discouragement. Mostly, you sense her vibrant energy, her great sense of humour, her excellent discernment, and purity of heart. I couldn't help but have a sense of companionship as I read on, that a compassionate listener was present.

Having always had a generous nature, she planned to open a Zen training centre in Dublin on her return.

I have maybe 50 or 60 years (who knows?) of time, of a life, open, blank, ready to offer. I want to live it for other people. What else is there to do with it? Not that I expect to change the world or even a blade of grass, but it's as if to give myself is all I can do, as the flowers have no choice but to blossom. At the moment the best I can see to do is to give to people this freedom, this bliss, and how better than through zazen? ( Zen practice of sitting meditation ) So I must go deeper and deeper and work hard, no longer for me but for everyone I can help.

There are poignant parallels with Thomas Merton's desire to help others and to be of service in the world, as well as his tragic death in Thailand. Some also compare her short life and deep realisations to that of St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Each have blessed us though their journals with the gift of seeing and understanding their inner journeys of liberation and transformation from the conditioned self to the realisation of the divine nature within.

Silence and Presence exist everywhere and in every tradition. However we feel pulled by Silence, it seems fulfilment and enlightenment lie in our ability to find rest there, and to let our actions move from there.

The Grace of Surrender

I remember first being introduced to meditation in my 20s, and for some reason, in spite of an often restless mind, I also had a strong sense that I was somehow coming home. As I persevered with my initial clumsiness, I found myself looking forward to the ceremony of sitting, allowing my restlessness to soften, and wait. What I couldn’t name at the time was the experience of Presence which then enfolded me, and drew me back in expectation for the next sitting. I also didn’t recognise at that time the seeds of self-kindness which were being sown.


Twenty years later, I look back at my younger self, and have to admire the humble innocence of a young adult finding her own way in life. I look back amazed at the disciplined practice I enjoyed then. I can still be a little restless. I suppose I am also older and hopefully a little wiser. Surrender comes easier now. Life has brought many joys and storms in the intervening years, each one cracking open the heart ever wider. Life has shown I am not in control of the vast majority of events unfolding in my life. Life has also shown that a force of gentleness and providence was with me throughout these years. The lives of my family were held and a pull towards truth, simplicity and trust was moving through us.


I realised some years ago that it was no longer possible to limit my daily practice to one or two periods of meditation, or regretfully none at all on occasion. I needed more help in the in-between times. I found I needed to reconcile the remainder of my day with the peace and serenity I felt during meditation. Slowly I noticed a inner pull towards a more contemplative way of living, the turning and surrender of each moment into prayer and devotion. This practice became a welcome anchor at difficult moments, and a celebration at times of breakthrough.

I still struggle with the discipline needed to sit in meditation and Centering Prayer. I welcome but no longer cling to the consolations which can come. I don’t always feel the strength of Presence which I felt in my younger years. I now seek to simply rest in Silence, rather than seeking a felt experience of Presence.

Though it may go against our nature, the act of surrendering is Nature itself. One moment and one season surrender into the next. The cycles of life surrender into each other. Birds and animals know this instinctively. They are led by inner rhythms dictated by Nature. We also see this graceful process unfolding in many people. They grow in wisdom and acceptance as they get older, and are often recognised by their strong sense of humour about Life's ups and downs. Surrender has made them humble and adaptable. They have witnessed many people making their final surrender from this life. They know that Life is to be lived, enjoyed and revered, moment by moment.

To welcome and to let go is one of the most radically loving, faith-filled gestures we can make in each moment of each day. It is an open-hearted embrace of all that is in ourselves and in the world.

Mary Mrozowski, Contemplative Outreach Founder