Weeds

My maternal grandmother was an avid gardener. Maybe not the kind of gardener who planned her beds, rather the sort of gardener who enjoyed seeing what popped up each year. She loved wildflowers and I remember more than one occasion when she took my hand and we walked into a field of daisies. The smell, the sun, her hand, it all left a subtle impression on me. To this day, daisies are my favorite flower and I was married with a bunch in my hand

When I work in my own garden, I often hear my grandmother’s voice in my head. It’s as if she is right there beside me. Sometimes, I even turn my head towards her. “A weed is simply something growing where you don’t want it to”, she would say. When violets crowd my lilies, I know I need pull a few out so there is more space and more sun.

I’ve noticed it can be the same with my thoughts. It can be the same with my habits. While some are beautiful, gentle and spacious, others seem intrusive, hard and limiting. When I think of my mind as a garden, perhaps even my grandmother’s garden, I am inspired to tend to it. To watch, as my grandmother did, what pops up. Sometimes there are bees and sometimes there are butterflies and when violets crowd my lilies, I pull a few out so there is more space and more sun.