Of Weed-killer and Wonder...

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!