It was a lovely but long day. You know the kind. A Zoom meeting went until dinnertime and I got off the call both hungry and what I call “screen-fried” (the depleted, hot, scratchy feeling of being digitally overstimulated). I had been looking forward to the quiet leisure of a solo evening at home but first the dog, cat, and myself needed to be fed. The refrigerator was almost empty so dinner would require a trip to the garden to harvest something to go with the meat I’d thawed. Then the cooking. Then the dishes. My breath was getting shorter and my body tightened up…
The math was quickly happening in my head and calculations revealed that by the time I accomplished getting bodies nourished and kitchen clean there would be very little left for what I wanted to do. My energy was dropping and once everything was done I’d be lucky to have an hour before it’d be time for the bedtime routine. Time scarcity and frustration kicked in and the spaciousness I had been looking forward to for the evening disappeared.
So I fed our dog, tried to stay patient and lovingly present for the slow process of hand-feeding my cat who is recovering from surgery, stomped out to the garden, grabbed the shovel, dug up a huge sweet potato, and snipped the greens. As I got back to the kitchen I noticed that in the brief process of harvesting this handful of veggies my state had radically shifted. The impatience and frustration were gone. The screen-zapped sensations had softened. I felt gently joyful.
Pulling out the cast iron pan and a cutting board I realized that the spacious feeling I was looking forward to savoring while I did what I felt like doing for the evening was already here as I began what I had to do (cook dinner). Nothing in my life circumstances, schedule, physical needs, or commitments changed in the five minutes it took me to go outside and dig up food, but my experience of all that and time itself had transformed.
Here’s what I noticed:
Ease ~ the process of momentarily meeting the earth with my own hands and muscles brought me out of my head and back to my body, the land, and the pulse of life so fully that I now felt at ease in my body.
Abundance ~ the tiny patch of planet earth where I live had remedied the emptiness of my refrigerator (and the twinge of scarcity stress I felt upon seeing it bare) with gorgeous, colorful, nutritious abundance.
Well-being ~ Instead of contraction and stress, I now felt a deep sense of okayness. I tangibly felt that I can slow down and take care of myself. I tangibly felt that I have what I need and can enjoy the moment.
Provision ~ The sense of being cared for by the earth, our garden, and our tending of it was so palpable that it melted a background anxiety that I hadn’t realized was there.
Spaciousness ~ Time had softened back into spaciousness and my calculations for the evening no longer mattered. I was already enjoying myself.
I cooked my dinner in a state of relaxation instead of rush and sat down to watch the sunset while I ate, relishing how well the sweet potatoes paired with coconut oil, lamb, and fresh fennel. I also savored the fact that I felt relaxed and deeply present as I ate. This was it’s own small amazing grace.
When eating alone I tend to scroll more than I’d like to admit. I’m still on a journey of cultivating leisurely eating and healthy digestion by softening the trauma-induced sense of rush and the modern society-induced pressure to multi-task. But that evening after my encounter with the garden, nothing in me wanted to pick up my phone. There was no void to fill.
But just in case you’re thinking that this story is about being one of those gardener types with some special love for growing food, I need you to know that NOPE! As much as I aspire to become a green-thumb-permaculture-person, it’s simply not the case. Our gardening score card here in Baja tallies up more failures than successes. We’re still newbies here, trying to learn the basics of desert soil and local climate. I didn’t grow up in a gardening family and I have very little food-growing experience. I garden sporadically and often feel guilty about that. My work happens behind the screen and it’s hard to find time to get out on the land. AND YET, here are these gorgeous, hearty sweet potatoes.
But perhaps even more remarkable than the miracle of digging up nourishing food in the desert is how I feel it changing me. This shift has my interest and a lot of my focus: the journey of coming home to our bodies and home to the earth. How necessary this is for our human species now. How our bodies are the earth. How healing it is—for our bodies, minds, and spirits, to notice this. How slowing down to natural rhythms changes everything. How moving at the pace of the body instead of the pace of my mind is healing me. How tired we all are and how much we crave rest. How it might still be possible to let the earth hold us instead of always pulling up ourselves up by our bootstraps. How different life on earth could be if we realized this is our primary relationship, and tended it.
I’m curious what you see and feel about coming home to your body and the earth. Do you feel restored by time outdoors? What do you notice when you do? Do you cultivate a relationship with the earth? We live in a culture that prioritizes mind over body, which keeps us in our heads and disconnected from our own essence and the world around us. Perhaps one way we can “walk each other home” is by sharing our experiences, questions, and insights. I’d love to hear anything you’d like to share.
I’m rooting for us, 🍠
Kai
P.S. Listen here for a beautiful song called “Little Garden” from Ayla Nereo, a singer-songwriter-musician-poet for us and for our times.
Going deeper ~ If the topic of coming back into relationship with the land touches you, here are three of my current favorite inspiring resources:
🌍 Zach Bush MD + the brother-sister team from Londolozi Village Game Reserve talking about some of the miracles of regeneration that are happening in South Africa. This video is a 45 minute conversation about the transformations happening for humans and planet at Londolozi. Listening gave me goosebumps.
🪃 Sand Talk, How Indigenous Thinking Can Save the World, by Tyson Yunkaporta. Sand Talk is a non-linear experience, immersing the reader in indigenous perspective on life, earth, time, humanity, and our purpose here. This beautiful book is a transmission of deep Aboriginal Australian wisdom and its relevance to global systems and current conundrums.
👱🏻♀️ Ro Marlen, Medicine Woman, Wisdom Teacher, and Embodied Healing Mentor. Ro is my healing mentor and it’s primarily thanks to the practices and perspectives I’ve learned from her that I’ve been gradually coming home to my body, healing from long-term trauma, and learning to trust life again.
I love this story! It pictures what I so often, daily, experience myself together with my garden and the forest.
BEAUTY-FULL!