Cultivator

Some folks who know me, or who have read some of my earlier posts, or who listened to the podcast on the reg, might already know that I spend a lot of time in the garden. For the last few years, the little, but not too little, garden spot that we maintain is my primary place to get what I call “Paul time” – those precious moments, those sacred times, where I can go, “gather my thoughts” by not really thinking about anything, and engage in wholesome activities which nourish the soul - in this case, obviously, gardening. I grow all sorts of things in this garden, from the quick turnaround lettuces and occasionally radishes, the middle length kales, chards, and basil, to the long haul okras, tomatoes, and peppers. Although I have had what I would call “success” in this endeavor, in many ways, I consider my garden more of an experimental space than anything else. I have no formal training in gardening or horticulture, and sometimes it seems that things succeed out there – and by that I mean we get something we can actually harvest and eat – despite my lack of expertise rather than because of it. Sometimes a seed germinates, grows, and thrives regardless of my level of expertise. Sometimes, seeds planted just grow. Sure, I have learned a thing or two in my experience. I can’t say that I’m a total amateur. However, it is still notoriously difficult to predict what the hot chili peppers will do from one year to the next. I hear that others have the same experience. That might just be a lesson in equanimity.

When we started on this plot of land a few years ago, it really wasn’t in great shape. It’s part of a community garden spot, and it had been abandoned for, well, at least a few years it seemed. The plot was choked with all sorts of matted grasses and weeds, the soil itself, which is pretty rich in clay around these parts, was very compacted, almost impenetrable in places. To envision this plot of land as a healthy, productive space in which to grow nourishing food seemed like a stretch goal - something that definitely was not a guarantee, and definitely not something that could happen overnight. Yet, the will was there, and the intention was there, and it turns out all the things that we needed to transition this land from a barren square of weeds into an intentional space was either there, or easily procured. Since this was our first actual garden in a pretty long time, we didn’t have the equipment with which to work this piece of ground into something… productive. Taking over this space and getting it into a shape where something could be done with it required the procurement of equipment. For us to move forward and succeed with this space, to work this piece of land to where it literally would, and could, bear fruit, before we could even plant the seeds for anything, we had to acquire some tools, and get a little practice with how to use those tools. To do this, we did what most folks would do, I think. We went to the hardware store and bought stuff – a shovel, a harrowing rake, a hoe, I think we bought two shovels actually, a hand trowel, a tiller – which we sometimes call “the twisty thing,” - and my absolute favorite tool of all, the one that I think is the most useful by far, and the one that is so used and worn that I think I’ll have to get another one soon – a cultivator.

Just think of that word for a minute – cultivator. I absolutely love this tool, and of all of our tools, this one looks by far the meanest. I mean, just look at the thing! This looks less like a garden tool than something that would be taken into medieval battle! A long wooden pole, with sharp, bent metal tines at the end. Maybe I think of it so aggressively because it rhymes with other violent and assertive words that end in “-or” – terminator, devastator, obfuscator – or maybe I don’t really associated it with more peaceful words BECAUSE OF THE SHARP METAL POKEY THINGS!!! I also think I might be conditioned to associate sharp metal spikes with violence and aggression. If I did, would that be so unexpected though? The funny thing about this is that if you ask any gardener who’s been gardening for a while what a cultivator is, they will recognize what you’re talking about right away, and will probably agree that it is a super handy tool to have around! The use of this piece of kit is also pretty intense – at least at the beginning. We’re literally using this tool to dig in, disrupt, unroot, allow for the establishment of a new footing. We’re literally preparing the soil for what will come next – the planting of seeds, and the growth of new life – intentional, fruitful, nourishing germination and growing of life – purposeful life – that can be seen, felt, appreciated, and… loved!

But first, before these beautiful tomatoes, before this luscious kale, even before this ephemeral, yet glorious spinach…

Cultivation.

The act, and the result, of cultivation in the garden certainly doesn’t look pretty at first. At the beginning, it looks a little like destruction. Yeah, something is already growing there for sure, but they’re all the things that the land produces when left unattended. If you want to grow anything on this square of sacred land, you really don’t have to do anything at all! Stuff will take root and grow. After all, that is what life does? It grows! But are these plants the ones you want, though? I mean, it looks like plants… but are these plants the ones that nourish you?

I’d say probably not. Some may be accidentally edible, and you might be fortunate enough to get some of those in the space. The ones you’re really looking for, however, might require a bit of work to get started on. The new plants – the ones that you want, the ones that you can eat, the ones that do satisfy and bring joy not just in the consumption of them, but in the everyday planting, tending, watering, nurturing, and eventual harvesting - will grow on their own if planted and given the conditions to thrive.  In the end, once cultivated, there really is not too much that you have to do to make this happen. It’s almost as if the real work isn’t in making things you want to grow. Rather, the real work is in generating the conditions under which they do it themselves. What is that work that we do to create these conditions anyway? If we put our attention there - in the creation of the conditions in which the stuff we want can grow, the rest seems to often take care of itself.

We cultivate. We engage in cultivation.

Now this is the part of the piece that we’ve been working toward. So far, perhaps obviously, I’ve been leading up to something else - using gardening as a metaphor for how we might approach, and engage with our own lives. Let me start this next bit by saying that it’s curious to me that until I started gardening, the only context in which I’ve heard the word “cultivate” used in actual spoken or written conversation is in the wellness industry – meditation, mindfulness, yoga, that sort of thing - as in, “cultivating a practice that (insert existential payoff here).” I never really thought about why that word was used too often, but I think I understood the intention of what was meant, it seemed right, and I have used it myself when describing what my own meditation practice is doing. I mean, what are you really doing when you take some time intentionally to yourself, to witness what arises and to what passes away, to get distracted and then refocus, to observe what it is that pulls us away, and what whisper of intention it is that brings us back? What pulls us out of time and space to experience, briefly, or not so briefly, the worlds that the weeds of our own conditioning, experiences, understandings, and worries might weave, and what draws us back into our present awareness, here, as we are, laid bare, with only ourselves to bear witness?

There are weeds. There is unchecked growth. There is hard soil in which deep roots cannot gain purchase, and when it rains, the water does not soak in. Likewise, there are habits – both “good” and “bad,” but unintentional habits, nonetheless. There is conditioning, and reactive measures that give a temporary impression of safety when we feel threatened. There is unseen, unreconciled, and unhealed pain, and there is underappreciated joy. There may be wounds to forgive, and forgiveness yet to be given to others. In all of these things, there is…

Life.

All of this stuff, all of these experiences that you bear, all of these weeds that grow which choke out the potential for intentional life, all of this is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. This ground can be cultivated by you, by me, by anyone. You have a cultivator, and that piece of equipment is sharper, sturdier, effective, and more available than anything you could buy at the hardware store. This cultivator is awareness – the awareness that these experiences which have shaped your life are yours, and no one else’s. They are uniquely yours, and they can never be taken from you. The awareness to see, to hear, to feel, and to yet live through all that this life has brought to you, and will bring to this life that you have. The practice of meditation is the practice of wielding this tool of awareness, practicing with it. Let no stone go unturned, no weed unseen and uprooted, no impenetrable soil be left to get in the way of our precious seedlings of intentional growth. What muscle can wield such a cultivator as this? What does it take to put that first effort into that piece of ground? 

It’s courage.

Courage, from the French word coeur – for “heart.” The courage that is found in that heart in your own chest. That’s the muscle that works this land. That’s the muscle that says, “yes, there are weeds, yes, there are stones, yes, there is ground to be worked here.” Yes, there is good soil here, and yes, that soil can grow precious and nourishing life. We just need a little cultivation. What curiosity can we bring to the experiment of this land in which you have? You are the gardener, and you have the tools and the muscle. Why not start with that little piece in the corner, and see what grows? When the space is cultivated, and the seeds of nourishing life are planted, they grow by themselves, and they are the gifts of a cultivated life.