I’m ashamed
to say it,
but it all began with weed-killer…
and looking
back now, the fact that I even thought of weed-killer as a solution to the
problem is a source of horror and embarrassment…
or perhaps
it began with the feeling of frustration at needing to ask for it…
As Novices
one of the duties we had was to assist the brother who looked after the
extensive novitiate gardens. These were traditional cloister gardens that only
the novices and the novitiate staff used. I loved them. There were beautiful
old fruit trees, vegetable patches, an extraordinary spliced Laburnum tree that
flowered spectacularly once a year in a half yellow and half purple explosion,
lots of small green lawns and fulsome flower beds and around them all and
through them all long gravel paths that led to little shrines and hidden areas
set aside for prayer, reflection, reading or simply enjoying the autumnal
sunshine in those first months of the ancient year long retreat experience we
call novititate.
Working
with the Brother Gardener meant mowing lawns and trimming trees and planting
and hoeing and doing all the usual jobs that a large garden entails while
learning from him the arcane arts of gardening. We worked on a rotation between
the three of us novices. One on Fruit and Veg, one on Lawns and Flowers and one
on the dreaded Weeding of the Paths. Then came the day the rotation shifted and
suddenly I found myself moved on to Path Weeding Duty. Three times a week I
would spend an afternoon kneeling on the path plucking out the little sprouts
of Dandelions, Daisies and other invaders that threatened to overcome the order
of the paths and bind the gravel together into a muddy mess. Having completed
the section I was working on I would then hoe and rake the gravel back into
order before the bell rang for evening meditation and prayer. Looking back as I
left I would notice that the section I had just worked on was clean and clear
but whatever satisfaction I was taking in my work for that day would be miserably
mitigated by seeing the apparent miles that awaited my attention in front of me,
to say nothing of the light green fuzz already accruing on the section I had
done last week. I hated it. It was back breaking, and slow, and stupid, I
thought. I could not understand why so much time was being expended on
maintaining the paths by hand when surely a once a month treatment with
weedkiller would have rendered them just as free for much longer and would have
freed me in the process for much more necessary and important work… and so I
would spend my time there kneeling on the paths no longer focussed on the
beauty of the gardens but grumbling deep within… especially when other friars
passed me by mowing grass, digging beds and generally seeming to have a much better
time than I.
Then came a
particularly bad day. It had rained the day before. The path was muddy. The
roots were deep. The back was sore. All through evening meditation I ached and
fulminated in equal quantities as around me the gentle breathing of the
brethren did nothing to calm my mood. Tomorrow, I resolved, I would do
something about it, and so I did. As soon as the morning classes were over I
asked to see the Novice Master. Sitting in front of him I made my request for
money to go and get weedkiller for the paths. I was reasonable in my tone. Clear
in my arguments. I enunciated my request clearly and calmly, being sure to
stress that this would make the job easier not just for me but for everyone.
“Think of
all the time that would be saved”, I said,
“I’m
surprised no one has ever thought of this before”, I said,
“I’ll be
free to do so much more”, I said.
The Novice
Master just looked at me.
Then, when
I had quite finished and talked myself into silence, he said quietly,
“Brother,
when you can come to me and tell me why I’m refusing your request now, then you
won’t have to weed the paths anymore.”
There was a moment of silence and then,
stunned slightly, I left the room.
Over the
ensuing days and weeks I grew to dread those paths. And always as I was working
I would stew over what the Novice Master had meant. Was it because we never
used chemicals in the garden elsewhere? Was it a Franciscan thing? Was he just
being cheap? Was it supposed to be penance? (It certainly felt like it at
times). And so I grumbled and weeded and made my way slowly around the paths
for about a month feeling the encroaching green army always at my sandaled
heels and losing no opportunity to tell the brothers what I thought of Weedkiller
and weeds and futile work until I’m sure they longed for the bell to ring that
issued in silent time in the evenings.
Then, one
day, out of the blue, and a day in all respects like any other, it happened. I
was weeding away. In the background I could hear the other brothers chatting as
they worked on the fruit trees. It was a sunny brisk day and I could feel the
earth drying on my fingers as I parted another weed from the ground and pulled
it free from the gravel… and then, just as I shook it, watching the clods of
mud fall away from the roots something fell away from me as surely as the grains
of gravel fell to the ground. I can only say I was freed, that I was connected.
Connected
to the gravel.
Connected
to the root.
Connected
to the earth beneath.
Connected to
the sunshine,
Connected
to the dust.
Connected
to the breath.
Connected
to the Love that holds it all in being.
I was
myself apart and I was connected to all of it.
It did not
matter that I was weeding or not weeding.
It did not
matter that the paths were greening behind me and were still green before me.
There was
just me in this moment.
Now.
Performing
this action.
Now.
Breathing
and moving.
Now.
Loving and
being loved.
Now.
I kept on
weeding, but it was as though a deep quality of experience that is always just below
the surface was revealed. I realised that we float on the surface of a deep ocean of Being. It was like seeing a familiar but
dark room illumined dazzlingly as a curtain is suddenly pulled back. Everything
was still in the room, all the familiar furniture was there but illuminated and
outlined in sunshine.
It wasn’t
peaceful, it was peace.
It wasn’t
joyful, it was joy.
It wasn’t
loving, it was love…
It wasn’t
praying, it was prayer…
And I, well
I kept weeding! What else could you do?
It only
lasted a moment, though it seemed to expand within me and around me forever,
and then, (foolishly I know now,) I looked at it, not from within but from
without and began to rejoice not in the experience but at having the experience
and, as ego awoke, immediately, it vanished…
At first I
was sad, but then I smiled and…kept on weeding…after all that was the job in
hand… From then on weeding was no longer the burden it had been. It was just
weeding. It didn’t matter that I would be kneeling in an island of soon to be
consumed again gray, loose, gravel…
there was
just this moment,
this weed,
this job,
this
breath…
and that
was ok.
The rhythm
of weeding of bending, bowing, plucking, shaking, hoeing, raking became the
background music to an inner attention to the prayer of the breath that now,
many years of practice later, I know marked the beginning of the Mindfulness of
Divine Presence that is the foundation stone of Christian Meditation practice.
Over the weeks I grew to quite like weeding… all thoughts of weedkiller were
forgotten… I simply dwelt in the ordinary wonder of the garden.
Later, I
discussed the experience with the Novice Master.
He smiled.
Said
nothing about it then, and, next day, relieved me of weeding duty.
Over the
months the experience would come and go, I realised it could never be forced,
though it could be encouraged and it always happened when I was just in the
moment, in a fluidity of being that very often brought body and mind together
in a repetitive disciplined action, in which intention had been set to dwell
fully in the work and be fully present to it, while preserving a loving
attention at the centre of the heart on the Divine Presence. There is a reason
we call it cultivation! This work of attuning the inner attention to that which
is always present to us. It takes a life time to master but the joy is in
knowing that when we begin to practice Divine Love swoops down into the gap
between what we are, (our usual distracted, self-centred existence), and what
we could be, (centred, peaceful, present) and gives us a glimpse of the latter
so that we might wish to work on the former…
If you
would like to begin to weed out your own distractions, so as to begin to enter
this mindfulness of Presence then a few suggestions come from the tradition.
Intentionality:
Consciously
make a prayer setting your intention to be present to Divine Love every day. If
possible do this first thing in the morning. (The Morning Offering practice.) It
can be good to return to this prayer at midday and in the evening. Invite the
Holy Spirit to begin the work of attuning you to His presence and inspiration.
Sitting:
A later
post will look at this in detail, but for now simply begin by setting two
periods of about 20 mins, morning and evening, to sit comfortably but alertly. If
20mins is too long start with 10 and allow it to grow. Invoke the Holy Spirit
and offer the time to the Lord as a time of being consciously present to Him by
being consciously present to the reality of His Love breathing through you, and
then follow the gentle rhythm of your breath as it rises and falls. We will add
a prayer word to this later, but for now, just follow the breath and when you
become distracted return to it gently and without stress.
Work:
We are all
busy people, but our work, whatever it is, can still be prayer. Moving from
activity to activity, pause long enough to re-set your intention each time to
be inwardly present to the Divine Presence within and around you. A simple
moment in which you breathe deeply three rounds of in-breath and out-breath
dedicating each one to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit can be a
beautiful way to do this. In time you will need to re-set less and less…
Finally:
Don’t use
weedkiller!
