The Garden is my Church

31 12 2007

I say this a lot, and really, it sounds flippant but I mean it. There isn’t anything I do on a regular basis that feels like church did when I was a kid. I don’t mean that the garden is my only venue for worship, cause that’s clearly not true. But when I used to get dragged along, protesting, to church Sunday after Sunday, despite it being boring, annoying and a battle of wills with my mother, I still got something out of it. The calm. The measured ticking of the liturgy. The old building and the decorations, particularly the flowers. The service became second nature and while reciting my mind was usually otherwhere. I did find it comforting, I admit.

So when I’m gardening and putting in hours of effort, my hands and body are busy but my mind is in a happy neutral state. I am at peace. I talk to myself. I stalk about muttering and planning, and stop and sit in the sun, and scribble in my garden book and think about very little indeed. My mind is at rest and at peace.

I am building something, just like I was supposed to be doing at church. There, I was supposed to be building my castle in Heaven; whereas in my garden I’m building a temple to the Goddess; a living breathing space which sings her praises every day, a reminder writ large of the cycle of the year and of the wonder of nature.

I will be posting on this topic throughout the year, and meanwhile I leave you with a picture of the blank canvas!

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