A Harvest of Presence

A Harvest of Presence

"It's an oasis!" - "I feel like I'm back in Costa Rica." - "It reminds me of Hawaii." - "Hydrangeas don't bloom in Florida!" - "Your garden always makes me feel good." said friends, strangers, or neighbors walking past our garden. It began simply enough as a six foot plot of earth with a Pygmy Palm in the middle of it. Then a family of Sandhill Cranes looking for grubs expanded it to eight feet. Their search for food compelled us to do something with the mound of now bare soil they'd overturned.

The teachings on Nature by Sufi mystic Inayat Khan came to mind. He said, "There is only one holy book. It is the sacred manuscript of Nature and it is the only scripture that can enlighten the reader." He went on, "All scriptures, before Nature's manuscript, are just little pools of water before the ocean." His teachings on Nature blended easily with our own practices on Mindfulness. In that perfect alignment of being present in the moment "The Garden" came into being.

It didn't come with instructions on what to plant. So we just sat with it intuitively. Using mindfulness techniques we were present to every nuance it revealed. We felt the warm humid atmosphere in and around the area. It was a vibrant place filled with insects and birds. Digging into the soil we saw tan-colored dry sand and black moist clay battle for dominance. Mindful tilling uncovered earthworms everywhere that were helping to aerate the soil with long trenches. Sadly, they also fed the white Ibises that arrived in flocks every morning at dawn. A few earthworms usually escaped the long curved bills which probed deep inside their trenches. It was nature teaching about life.

Days settled into weeks and then months as we prepared the planting bed. We planted by season, consciously watching the direction of the sun's angle to the garden. We saw how its progression across the sky brilliantly lit the garden or where it left shadows from the palm. The sun guided which plants would work best. But it was the flowers that told us what to do. We were present to each one of them in their growing season, selecting glorious shrubs and annuals in a riot of colors.

We spent our days digging, spading, fertilizing, watering, and pruning. We talked to the plants if they were stressed, assuring them all was well. We praised the ones that produced the most brilliant blossoms, telling them how remarkable they were. When experts assured us we couldn't grow roses in the heat of Florida we shrugged pointing to the pink, yellow, or red long stemmed beauties. "Tell them!" we said.

Every morning we made a daily pilgrimage into the garden. We admired each plant, propping up some dirt around the base of one, removing a twig that had fallen on a flower, or cutting off a dead branch. We touched their leaves in silent homage. We hovered over a new seedling like expectant mothers. We showered gratitude and appreciation for each one of their unique expressions. In time we came to realize working the garden had become it's own form of meditation - a most natural and easy form of direct communication with nature.

Inayat Khan said every leaf is a page that contains divine revelation. In the ten seasons as caretakers of the garden it's taught us how to read the manuscript of Nature. The manuscript showed there was a cycle of birth, growth, and death in every entity. While plants do grow tall and burst with flowers, soon those flowers die, their seeds feeding the birds. But always, life continues. Some seeds that fall to the ground become seedlings. In time, those seedlings become mature plants with new flowers, repeating the cycle of birth, growth and death. The plants were no different than the Sandhill Cranes who returned every spring, laid eggs, hatched their babies and taught them how to feed on grubs and earthworms, often in our garden.

Nature is a fully balanced organism. It doesn't really need humans. But humans need it. It transports us to a place outside ourselves. It gives us the space to slow down and to appreciate the magnificent colors and scents that can alter our moods. It teaches us about birth, life and death. It allows us the freedom to become at peace with this knowledge. And it bestows its bounty on those who take the time to let it. The Garden is a Harvest of Presence moments. All one must do is practice presence and patience and listen.
 

Jo Mooy - September 2015

Sound Healing a Tree

"Sound and music will become the medicine of the future."  When I read those words of the American psychic Edgar Cayce 40 years ago I had no idea that I'd live to see sound as a healing tool or that I'd be actively involved in it.  Yet, sound and sound healing appears to be a topic in the forefront of the scientific and spiritual communities.  If you Google the word "Sound" you'll see almost one billion results while the words "Sound Healing" has 2.7 million results.  Sound Healing is a modality whose time has come as evidenced by the preponderance of practitioners, researchers, professionals and students actively immersed in it.

 

For years I've studied sound with esoteric teachers.  I read about and researched scientific documents and spiritual manuscripts on the subject.  I imaged it in sacred visionary art.  And I learned about vibration and frequency at intensive seminars and retreats.  Finally, after years of study, I experienced sound at a profoundly deep and personal level while in a state of meditation.  Instead of understanding sound at a mental or intellectual level, I became sound.  The experience was so powerful I knew it was time to teach others how to understand it, hear it, feel it, and experience it.  But my experiential lessons were not over yet for spirit wanted me to put into practice what I'd learned about sound throughout all those years! 

 

In the summer of 2010 I planted a six foot tree to replace one lost in a storm.  Though not as hardy as its predecessor it flourished through the fall.  Then in December a wind-storm struck the tree, tearing its trunk into 3 pieces and leaving the pieces hanging by shredded bark.  The obvious choice was to bemoan the loss, dig it up and plant something else.  But an inner voice whispered, "heal it!"  So, instead of cutting it down, the 3 limbs were pulled together and stitched up with duct tape.

 

I talked with the tree, telling it what I was going to do.  I knew that everything in the universe was vibration and that intention, imagination and sound could heal.  I told the tree that it was going to heal and that I would use sound vibrations to assist it.  So, every day when I passed the tree, I put my hands around the swollen bandaged area and toned harmonics and sound into it.  I visualized the 3 limbs coming together as whole and complete.  I saw the sap within the small trunk bringing life to the severed area.  I continued doing that for two months.

 

In March, just a few weeks before the vernal equinox, the tree looked like it was going to bud.  I held out hope, sensing that it might return to life.  One of the limbs was robust, filled with deep green leaves and red flower buds.  The other two limbs didn't look as healthy.  Still, I continued talking to it, sounding it, and toning healing notes into it.

 

The great Sufi mystic Inayat Khan said sound can be magnetized by the voice of the singer and that "the closer to nature it is kept the more powerful and magical it becomes."  The photo above is the tree in Spring of 2011.  While one side is clearly more vibrant than the other, nonetheless there are small leaves and red flowers on the other two limbs.  The tree was talked with and sounded with healing tones almost every day.  It appears to have survived its ordeal.  Some might say that you can "fix" anything with duct tape.  I know that daily doses of sound healed it!

 

Jo - April 2011 

The Benches

The Benches

No matter if it's the world stage or a small residential community, behind most perceived impressions of a given event or situation there's always something else transpiring.  Yet, we never know how an overt action by some individuals might change events, altering the outcome for the greater good.

In this situation, behind the idyllic image presented to the outside world of a harmonic residential area, disharmony was lurking.Four miles of park-like walkways grace the over-55 community.  Residents are out on the trails every day walking their dogs, exercising, or bike riding past the manicured gardens and lawns.  Occasionally, an elderly spouse can be seen pushing the wheelchair of a sick partner.  What sets the community apart is consistent friendliness.  Neighbors will always say hello as they pass one another on the sidewalks or wave as they drive by.  However, noticing the advanced age of some residents, a recommendation was made to the Board that benches be installed along the walkways so older, tired, or ill walkers could rest. 

It seemed like an easy solution to install a few benches.  But that was not the case.  After the proposal was made, unpleasant debates and nasty comments raged for months about the wisdom or necessity of the benches.  While most wanted the benches, a vocal group expressed major objections.  Finally, after a vote by a quorum of residents, the Board, in an attempt to please everyone, made a decision to install "two trial benches."

The benches were placed in a tranquil area near two large lakes next to a main walkway.   Within days of placing the benches by the lakes, residents were shocked when they discovered one of them had been spray painted with black paint.  The word "NO!" was scrawled across the slats.  The shocking part was that this was not the act of outsiders.   The community is walled, gated and has 24 hour security guards.  It was done by someone inside the gates.  Discussion followed and the offending paint was removed. But the bench remained.  But soon after the first incident, the second bench was found tossed into the lake.  Concerned with the bad manners, the Board sent a notice saying that new benches would be permanently installed in concrete, regardless of the adolescent behavior on the part of a few.  The vandalism stopped.

Since the permanent benches were installed, a different tone prevailed in the community.  Attitudes shifted once the concrete was set.  Whatever reservations or objections people previously had about the benches were gone.  The sounds of laughter and chatter could be heard throughout the day, as different residents appeared at the benches at different times of the day.  The benches became gathering places where people exchanged stories about their dogs, their days, or their lives.  If someone was ill, the word quickly went out.  If there was a birthday, good wishes were relayed.  Even the dogs seemed to enjoy the space, cavorting with their own new fur-friends. 

Just as the Benches became a focal point for the fears and intolerance of some individuals in a small community, so a proposed community-center located two blocks from the scene of great devastation and horror has become the rallying point of intolerance and fear among another group of people.  Heated discussions about immigration or building mosques continue to agitate citizens and governments.  Xenophobia has become one of the barometers in how we treat one another.  Yet, most religious and spiritual leaders call for mutual respect and tolerance in the name of their religions.  

Fear seems to be the driving force behind many ill-mannered discussions.  Fear of the unknown.  Fear of change.  Fear of someone who is not of the same culture or upbringing.  Fear that there won't be enough.  Or fear that someone will get something they're not entitled to.  In this abundant universe there's always more than enough for everyone. But most don't believe that.

What do we believe? How do we stack up when faced with something unfamiliar, or when faced with our fears? Do we judge every hateful act by a person's religion, culture or country?  The residential community didn't characterize the acts of vandalism on the benches by religion or culture.  They merely called it childish and boorish.  But they persevered in serving the common good.

The message of the gentle, mystic teacher Inayat Khan was unity.  He felt if all of humanity could be brought together we would rise above the differences and distinctions that separate us.  In working towards the unity of all religions, he envisioned a prayer service that honored all the religious traditions of the world as equal sources of spirituality.  The service became known as Universal Worship.

Cooler heads brought discordant factions in a small residential community together when The Benches became gathering places of laughter and easy conversation.  Is it possible that a different dialogue regarding Ground Zero might take place that brings people together rather than pulls them apart?  What if, instead of condemning a community center that is not even visible to Ground Zero, open-minded people embraced the idea of Unity suggested by Inayat Khan? 

Could you imagine a garden-like setting where 8 stone plaques and 8 stone benches are placed in a circle at Ground Zero?  Each stone and bench would be inscribed with the symbol and the name of one of the 8 major religions of the world.  Perhaps future visitors to Ground Zero might sit in the circle of benches and see the unity of all religions and all people instead of the horrors of disharmony that caused the destruction.  Maybe the benches might become gathering places where people from all cultures come to exchange good wishes.  Maybe the charter of the United Nations which includes "respect, universal peace, and the harmonizing action of nations" might be recorded in that garden.  Maybe it's worth considering some benches. 

Jo - September 2010