march 16, 2012

today, i was eyeing my chive plant with great concern and noticing it was looking pretty rough. all kinds of dead things hanging off it, and these dried out, curled up ends.

when i first got the plant, it was really healthy and strong. (greenhouses will do that for a plant, i suppose!) but, while transporting the plant in freezing mid-february temperatures, it, well, froze. all the exposed chives died. gah, i felt so bad. i never did clear the detritus from the plant - even when a whole new set of chives grew in, and the plant got strong again. there were these stiff, dry, straw-like dead things choking the roots and, i'm sure, taking nutrients from the healthy parts of the plant.

today was the day to give it some attention. granted, this is more of a tending than a mending project...but there is something in this gesture that feels important and mendful in its own way. when i think of death and change, i often think of compost. of taking what's not needed and using that to enrich the soil of what's to come. in human life, it's metaphorical. we take our lessons learned, and let those settle into our minds as valuable things that help us grow. for plants, it's much more concrete and direct, but it's the same idea. i guess tending this plant is reminding me about lessons learned and to rely on the wisdom i've earned.

there's something important about clearing away what's old and dead, so that doesn't choke out the possibility of new life. that's why we spring clean, it's why we get haircuts and desire new clothes once we lived in them for a certain amount of time. there's this primal urge to get rid of what's stale or old or dead and embrace the potential of the space we've created for something new to grow. i took all the old dead stuff, crunched it up and spread it like a blanket in the spaces between the plants. it'll break down and gift the soil with whatever it's got left. it'll also leave space in the right places - for the plant to grow up and out unfettered by the old, dead stuff. here's to all of us doing that!

i sometimes go to a writing group on tuesday nights, and we always open the writing session with the same excerpt of a poem by rumi as a reminder to embrace the empty page as a place of possibility:




"i've said before that every crafts[person] searches for what's not there to practice [a] craft.
a builder looks for the rotten hole where the roof caved in
a water-carrier picks the empty pot.
a carpenter stops at the house with no door.
workers rush toward some hint of emptiness, which they then start to fill.
their hope, though, is for emptiness, so don't think you must avoid it.
it contains what you need!"