This heart shaped potato found its way from a local croft to my kitchen and triggered the thought: perhaps I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places. Buried in the ground, covered in soil this little symbol of love reminded me of the earthly sources of what must surely be, the divine spark and founding principle of the universe. I've been striving to unearth the qualities of unconditional love in my life but have so far only managed to identify flawed maternal love, co-dependence, infatuation, unrequited love ... I have a list that suggests I've missed the mark by so far that what I have thought of as love is probably nothing of the sort.
This little heart shaped potato prompted me to reconsider. Love nourishes us like food. It could be comfort food like cheesy-bean jacket potatoes that remind us of childhood lunches. Or, food that accompanies a bracing walk along the seafront like a bag of chips. Or, something altogether more convivial, like the roast potatoes of a Sunday lunch with family and friends. Or, a little more gourmet and exciting like dauphine potatoes at a fancy restaurant with a lover. Excuse the metaphor if carbohydrates are not your dietary thing, but you get the picture! Love comes to us with many flavours and while it might not be perfect, it can be good and connects all the elements of a life well lived – a nourished childhood, playfullness, nature, beauty, conviviality, companionship and romance amongst many more.
Next year I’ll be digging up potatoes from my garden. I’ve saved the heart shaped beauty to seed my inaugural harvest. This has been my first season with a garden of my own and although my planting has been haphazard, we have been able to eat fresh herbs, broccoli and kale over the summer, and admire lavender, jasmine, chamomile and rose. Rapture accompanied my contemplation of the one blousy rose that has bloomed resolutely against the ravages of wind and salt. I have wondered at the unfolding bud and the sheer beauty of its deep red velvety petals. Old farm barrels drilled with holes and sunk into the ground have served as worm bins. Topped up every day with our kitchen scraps, we are fulfilling our core mission as gardeners to create soil. When I lifted the lid the other day and saw a dark earth teeming with red worms, I was overjoyed, and again, full of wonder.
The integration of death, decay and the essence of life took me into a meditation about my own death. That my demise is essentially a facet of the aliveness of all that is, is utterly discombobulating to the ego. For the most part I am persuaded by reports about an afterlife from those who have returned from near death experiences, that something of us continues when the body has served its dues. But, on days when I question the existence of a soul and settle into the possibility that there is nothing more than what is here on planet earth, I find that I am ok with that. Every part of what currently constitutes me will continue in different life forms. Today the kitchen scraps, tomorrow the flesh and blood that, this morning, I dragged out of bed to catch the early ferry home. Once the worms have had their way with me, I might be a molecule in a velvety rose enchanting my descendants, or the scent of jasmine on a summer's breeze. Equally, I could be slug or flea or dog shit. Well that's a sobering thought! While we have little control of the molecules that were once us when the bit of us with which we makes decisions is deceased or departed to other planes, we can determine what happens to our bodies in the near term. I have a shroud in my wardrobe that I hope will clothe my body when the daily ritual of getting dressed is no more required. And it’s my express wish to be buried on Tiree, if not in my garden, then in a natural burial ground that I hope will be available. My family know of my plans. Do yours? Don’t be coy about talking about these things. It’s a beautiful gift to enable the people you leave behind the comfort of carrying out your wishes.
My garden is currently not a thing of beauty to anyone else except me and the children. When a friend visited, she pitied my neighbours the chaos they're compelled to confront when they look across to my zone, and when I invited one of my neighbours to observe how my garden is coming on, he tactfully said, 'you've got a long-term vision!'
A long-term vision works well for matters of the heart too. Whether the first flush of love, when everything feels perfects, gives way to maturing compatibility or disillusionment, it can be honed with the quality of unconditional by bringing forgiveness and apology to bear on the relationship. These two principles work across the board, whether it’s romantic love, filial love, parental love, love for the self, love for the natural world or love for the divine. When forgiveness and apology are the founding principium like the making of soil in a garden, the love that our lives harvest has the hue of wonder and the scent of joy like a blousy rose flowering in the blustery seaside garden of a novice gardener.
There are many ways to bring the practice of forgiveness and apology into our relationships. I make a regular habit of it using the tools of the Grief Recovery Method and I am happy to share with you how to do this in your own life. I also love the framing of the ancient tradition of Hoponopono – I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love you, thank you. I encourage you to play with it, experiment, try it out, just as I am with my garden. It’s an art that we hone with practice and attention. My garden is already a more inviting place to relax than it was six months ago, just as my heart is a more rested and easy home to inhabit. I like to think that when my heart’s rhythm is stilled and the organ that regulates my existence in the body unites with the soil of the garden, the harvest is one of joy, connection, love and warm memories. I must sow these seeds now. No matter how late in the season, they will flourish and leave those I care about love that nourishes the heart like my little heart shape potato nourishes the body in a hundred different ways.
So here’s to the quotidian rhythm of existence that brings us the harvest of unconditional love when we are willing to tend the garden of our hearts with the tools of forgiveness and apology.This heart shaped potato found its way from a local croft to my kitchen and triggered the thought: perhaps I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places. Buried in the ground, covered in soil this little symbol of love reminded me of the earthly sources of what must surely be, the divine spark and founding principle of the universe. I've been striving to unearth the qualities of unconditional love in my life but have so far only managed to identify flawed maternal love, co-dependence, infatuation, unrequited love ... I have a list that suggests I've missed the mark by so far that what I have thought of as love is probably nothing of the sort.
This little heart shaped potato prompted me to reconsider. Love nourishes us like food. It could be comfort food like cheesy-bean jacket potatoes that remind us of childhood lunches. Or, food that accompanies a bracing walk along the seafront like a bag of chips. Or, something altogether more convivial, like the roast potatoes of a Sunday lunch with family and friends. Or, a little more gourmet and exciting like dauphine potatoes at a fancy restaurant with a lover. Excuse the metaphor if carbohydrates are not your dietary thing, but you get the picture! Love comes to us with many flavours and it's incompleteness is less important than its beingness.
Next year I’ll be digging up potatoes from my garden. I’ve saved the heart shaped beauty to seed my inaugural harvest. This has been my first season with a garden of my own and although my planting has been somewhat haphazard, we have been able to eat fresh herbs, broccoli and kale over the summer, and admire lavender, jasmine, chamomile and rose. I have found contemplating the one blousy rose that has bloomed resolutely against the ravages of wind and salt has inspired rapture in me. I have wondered at the unfolding bud and the sheer beauty of its deep red velvety petals. Old farm barrels drilled with holes and sunk into the ground have served as worm bins. Topped up every day with our kitchen scraps, we are fulfilling our core mission as gardeners to create soil. When I lifted the lid the other day and saw a dark earth teeming with red worms, I was overjoyed, and again, full of wonder.
The integration of death and decay in the essence of life took me into a meditation about my own death. That my demise is essentially a facet of the aliveness of all that is, is utterly discombobulating to the ego. For the most part I am persuaded by reports about an afterlife from those who have returned from near death experiences, that something of us continues when the body has served its dues. But, on days when I question the existence of a soul and settle into the possibility that there is nothing more than what is here on planet earth, I find that I am ok with that. Every part of what currently constitutes me will continue in different life forms. Today the kitchen scraps, tomorrow the flesh and blood that, this morning, I dragged out of bed to catch the early ferry home. Once the worms have had their way with me, I might be a molecule in a velvety rose enchanting my descendants, or the scent of jasmine on a summer's breeze. Equally, I could be slug or flea or dog shit. Well that's a sobering thought! While we have little control of molecules that were once us when the bit of us with which we makes decisions is deceased or departed to other planes, we can determine what happens to our bodies in the near term. I have a shroud in my wardrobe that I hope will clothe my body when the daily ritual of getting dressed is no more required. And it’s my express wish to be buried on Tiree, if not in my garden, then in a natural burial ground that I hope will be available. My family know of my plans. Do yours? Don’t be coy about talking about these things. It’s a beautiful gift to enable the people you leave behind the comfort of carrying out your wishes.
My garden is currently not a thing of beauty to anyone else except me and the children. When a friend visited, she pitied my neighbours the chaos they're compelled to confront when they look across to my zone, and when I invited one of my neighbours to observe how my garden is coming on, he tactfully said, 'you've got a long-term vision!'
A long-term vision works well for matters of the heart too. Whether the first flush of love, when everything feels perfects, gives way to a maturing compatibility or disillusionment, it can be honed with the quality of unconditional by bringing forgiveness and apology to bear on the relationship. These two principles work across the board, whether it’s romantic love, filial love, parental love, love for the self, love for the natural world or love for the divine. When forgiveness and apology are the founding principium like the making of soil in a garden, the love that our lives harvest has the hue of wonder and the scent of joy like a blousy rose flowering in the blustery seaside garden of a novice gardener.
There are many ways to bring the practice of forgiveness and apology into our relationships. I make a regular habit of it using the tools of the Grief Recovery Method and I am happy to share with you how to do this in your own life. I also love the framing of the ancient tradition of Hoponopono – I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love you, thank you. I encourage you to play with it, experiment, try it out, just as I am with my garden. It’s an art that we hone with practice and attention. My garden is already a more inviting place to relax than it was six months ago, just as my heart is a more rested and easy home to inhabit. I like to think that when my heart’s rhythm is stilled and the organ that regulates my existence in the body unites with the soil of the garden, the harvest is one of joy, connection, love and warm memories. I must sow these seeds now. No matter how late in the season, they will flourish and leave those I care about love that nourishes the heart like my little heart shape potato nourishes the body in a hundred different ways.
So here’s to the quotidian rhythm of existence that brings us the harvest of unconditional love when we are willing to tend the garden of our hearts with the tools of forgiveness and apology we could ever wish for.
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