Roots

roots

I feel like posting a legal disclaimer declaring that I have no control over my post today. That my fingers are working with the keyboard without consent and I am somewhere in the bedroom hiding under the bedside table. Meh! That would be pointless, everybody knows I wouldn’t fit under that thing!

I’m in the garden, its cold but the suns shining. I’m out there to dig up some mature plants. I need to get rid of these things, they are ugly and taking over parts of the garden that I don’t want infected with ugly! I think that the common name for them is ornamental grass. These things are no ordinary ornamental grass, they are massive, the blades are sharp and they grow even uglier looking flowers. That’s my take on them anyway. The people that lived here before us obviously loved them.

Here I am, immersing myself in the swing of the mattock. One hit after the other and my mind is racing. I am in spiralling thought mode. That mode your mind gets into when it’s thinking feeling and knowing too much all at once. I’m breathing through forgiveness, as I watch memories pass through my mind, I’m breathing in patience as I feel pain, regret and resentment. I’m swinging that thing so hard my arms are wobbly, they are so weak from the weight of it all. I’m thinking that it’s a good thing its blunt, otherwise I might lose my balance the next time the mattock goes through my ankle and takes my foot with it.

Confused? I’m taking a walk the talk approach to dealing with addressing my fears, in an attempt to embrace forgiveness. I am smashing the crap out of this ugly, in my garden. It’s interesting isn’t it? That we know, we have this big old ugly freaky flower producing plant in our lives and it’s causing all sorts of imbalance, yet we leave it there! We let it sit, it serves more than one purpose to us and obviously a lot more to the outside world. I watched a sweet little frog get away, after a full on mattock swing. I considered leaving the bush for a bit after that, thought I should let any other little critters get out just in case I chopped them up or something. I didn’t stop though. I caught myself making excuses, who was I kidding. My back hurt, my arms wobbled, my mind spun and my heart felt sick. It had nothing to with the frog, his family or the bush. I looked back down at that thing and gave it another swing. It got harder, loads harder, I cut through some easy stuff and then I felt like giving up. I noticed the enormity of the roots. It’s been in that ground for so long that its roots are all over the place. I swung away as my mind shared my shame, revealing the raw energy of quitting and the story I told myself a long time ago about quitting, giving up! I am still shocked at what I uncovered. I leave things because I can, it’s my statement to the world and all of the ugly grasses in it, that I am in control of my life and my choices, despite any outside influence, I can quit at any time, I can leave, I can give up, I can change my mind, change my attitude, change my actions, behaviour, beliefs. All of it!  Your probably wondering what the deal is in that. It’s a pretty flexible way to be and could work. I have decided that it doesn’t. Not for me anyway. I have grown this little garden in my mind that’s got ugly grass in it and there are some big ones, I am struggling to get out. They are so ugly that they are impacting on other parts of my life. I have obviously found purpose for them, otherwise they wouldn’t be there. Today, I started digging and now I am resting, exhausted. The aftermath of not giving up, of giving it everything until I almost fell apart, I gave that bush everything I had until it was gone, clear out of that bed. Once I finished smashing it out, it was time to take on the roots. I kept swinging, acknowledging to myself that this was a chance to remove a huge part of ugly from my life, a moment that I could choose to persist and not leave a trace of this plant anywhere, the garden would be pure again, free of its ugly.

I got most of the roots out, but then noticed that they (the roots) travel under a paved path, too many to mess with. So I made a choice to see it like this. I took on that grass, I took him out for the long haul, I wanted to remove everything that he left behind but I realised I couldn’t. I realised, that he has left a mark in that garden, these roots are everywhere, the energy and time it would take to rid the roots would consume my life. I had to make a decision to release the belief that the garden would not be pretty again until all of the roots where gone. I had to allow myself to process, that these roots are a part of the story now. They are there, they will always be there, it’s my call to decide what that means to me about my garden. I will plant more seeds and I will feed them, I’ll make sure they have enough sunlight, water and nutrients. The roots will stay. The impact that these roots have on the future growth of this garden remains with me. I could choose to think about them every time I look that way, I could focus on the fact that they are still there hidden under the surface of the ground, I could allow that energy to impact on the way I feel about the garden, the way I see the garden, the way I tend to it, or I could be ok with them just being roots. Roots that have no power to go anywhere, no power to grow. I could admit that this grass has taught me more about myself and how I see the world. I could write a blog about it and share my very bizarre way of looking at things with everybody and anybody who takes the time to read it. I could risk all future sound and conservative employment prospects with just one post.

I haven’t cleaned them up yet, the ugly grassy bushy bits are still lying out in the yard. I will though, I am about too. I can’t wait actually. I can’t wait to see what the soil will look like once I have nourished it with the right food and care. I haven’t decided what I will plant where these grasses used to be. As tacky as this sounds, I really think it will be fruit.

 

 

 

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