Cultivating courage
Romanian calendula flourishing in southern Utah
Springtime in the desert comes quite early, however this year my inner springtime took a very long time to arrive. During my long hibernation, ‘roots’ were the theme that continually showed up in meditation, shamanic journeys, and conversations. A large part of my own inner process during the winter months involved exploring the roots that support my growth, that provide nourishment, that nurture my feeling of groundedness and stability. As one with a gypsy heart and deep affinity for travel and movement, following the guidance to root more deeply into my life has been a powerful invitation. Part of this exploration was a clear knowing it's time to plant a physical garden. The past three summers we have helped a friend in his prolific vegetable garden, but this year, I needed to plant my own.
In early April our farmer friend helped me install a new watering system for my garden boxes. We added fresh soil and fertilizer and I prepared to plant our first garden since moving 2 years ago. As I was planting the seeds, it occurred to me how much courage it takes to plant a garden. Each seed goes into the ground and I don’t know if it will sprout and grow. I don’t know if the weather conditions will support a successful harvest. What if the bugs eat the plants…what if the heat wilts the plants…what if I under or over water…will I be a good enough, conscientious enough, dedicated enough gardener and so on. As my thoughts spiraled, I realized that gardening is an act of courage, faith and trust.
Six years ago I traveled to Romania with my son after the sudden death of my husband. We stayed with dear friends for six weeks because I needed to get away, REALLY far away, and tune into what Spirit was calling me to through the dissolution of my life as I knew it. While there, my friend gifted me seeds from her own enchanting and simple garden, among those were Calendula seeds. This spring as I was looking through seed packets I discovered that somehow, despite the years and a cross-country move, her seeds had traveled with us. I wasn’t sure if they would even germinate after all this time, but I hopefully planted them and miraculously, they BLOOMED! There are no words to express the delight I feel seeing them grow. Those humble seeds, carried across an ocean, thousands of miles, and many years of life experience have been a profound teacher for me these past months.
Romanian Calendula blooming in the southern Utah desert
There are experiences in life that bring us to our knees, pull the rug out from under us, crack our heart wide open, and invite us to question anything and everything. In those moments it’s natural to wonder if we will ever find our way back to solid ground and find the courage to continue forward. In those same moments we are also given the seeds for new beginnings, the seeds of our becoming.
Some seeds we plant right away to help us get our bearings, to feel we are doing something, anything. There are others we tuck away, knowing these seeds will require a level of attention and care we aren’t prepared to offer, yet. Then one day, perhaps when we least expect it, the nudge comes that it’s time. Each time the call comes to plant a seed and we listen and respond, we are cultivating courage, inviting our faith to grow, and building trust in the process of life. It doesn’t matter if the seed sprouts or lays dormant in the soil, it matters that you tenderly placed it with the hope that it will grow.
The wisdom and beauty of the Calendula showed me that, while I thought I was rooting into my life and tending to the garden of new beginnings these past years, it wasn’t time. What I was doing was cultivating courage and prepping the soil. I’ve been planting seeds along the way to heal my heart and rebuild trust in the power of creation. Each season that passed has increased my resilience and helped me feel safe to sink my roots into this Earth life once again. I still don’t know what will transpire in the garden, but what I do know is that the potential harvest and the growth that occurs along the way is absolutely worth the dance with the unknown. It takes great courage to plant a garden in our life. To be willing to tend to the seeds and nurture our creations. There will always be a list of “what if’s” and we cultivate courage so we can face them with faith and trust in what can grow.
I’m currently sitting with an overflow of squashes (in my gardening zeal, I may have over-planted), and I’m finding that my hesitation these past few years wasn't about a garden that won't grow in the desert, it’s really about what might happen it if grows and thrives and delivers an abundance of everything I envisioned. The fear is around my capacity and commitment as a gardener to tend to the garden. It takes courage to sit with the fear. What’s important is that we commit to give it our best, even if it’s one seed, because each time we do, we build capacity and we cultivate courage.
These days life around us is filled with upheaval, uncertainty, and a myriad of unknowns. What better time could there be to start planting? To transform our lives into splendid, beautiful, gardens. To try our hand at growing the things we didn’t think were possible. On this Super New Moon, I invite you to plant a seed in your life. In the stillness of the dark moon, offer up a seed of your becoming, a dream for the most juicy, joyful, expansive life you wish to live and let it rest in the fertile soil of your heart. Tend to it by asking what it needs to grow, listen to the answer, and respond. It may not be time for the full on garden, but you can always tend to one seed. What is the seed that you have the courage to plant in your life today? It’s never too late to see what will grow.
