Cultivate Your Heart Garden

Something magical happens to me once the weather warms and the fresh smell of spring is in the air. My heart fills with wonder and anticipation, my spirit is lifted, and my mind automatically turns to the garden. Every year since my teens, I’ve been possessed by a compulsion to sink my fingers into the earth. My mission: to cultivate, plant, nurture, and watch flora mature, brighten, and beautify the landscape. This process never fails to brighten my soul as well.

I haven’t chosen this compulsion. And I can’t control it. My intense desire to plant is innate: originating from someplace deep inside me. I have no choice but to answer the call. To me, gardening is a labor of love—one that always gives back, either in the way of food, shade, or beauty.

Each March, my enthusiasm and my senses are heightened when I step outside, breathe the rich scent of spring, and inspect my garden beds. I smile as I uncover the first hardy green perennial shoots poking up from the mulch, still sleepy from their winter nap. I delight at the sight of swollen buds on ornamental tree branches and shrubs. And I sigh at the sight of nipped rose and azalea branches where the deer have munched a snack.

The garden is one of my many teachers. Each season there’s a lesson to be learned, or a message that sticks with me all year long. Sometimes I discover a new water plant. Other years I find the best fertilizer for an ailing rhododendron, or rejoice over the effectiveness of a natural pest deterrent. Oftentimes, the message is simply to remember to slow down and be in the moment.

Last week, as I stuffed piles of decaying leaves and weeds into the wheelbarrow to be hauled away, the newly exposed earth of my vegetable bed seemed to ache for its yearly gift of lettuce seeds. Which variety would I plant first this year? I love them all: Black Seeded Simpson. Mesclun mix. Buttercrunch. Arugula.

To a gardener, there’s nothing more gratifying than sowing tiny seeds in the earth and witnessing the miracle of life sprout above the soil. I’ve always preferred to start my vegetable babies from seed, and relish the process of sowing, watering, and waiting patiently. I check the garden daily, keeping an eagle eye out for the seedlings’ first green leaves to announce that the magical transformation has begun. It never ceases to amaze me that my sweet carrots, spicy radishes, crunchy green beans, and bold, cold-hardy spinach, spring from a single, tiny seed.

But as I enter the planting season this year, something feels off. My usual enthusiasm is noticeably muted. Lately, it’s been a struggle to maintain my usual calm, happy self in the midst of this dark, chaotic, violent time in our country and around the world. I see friends, neighbors, families, and government leaders deeply divided. Hatred and cruelty abound. Demonization and corruption are rampant. Masked men disappear neighbors off city streets. Our democracy is threatened. I find myself responding with anger, frustration, fear, and depression. I worry. I complain more. I’m often consumed by sadness. I sense my heart hardening, and that bothers me terribly.

Too often, I wonder: How do I navigate this tumultuous, uncertain time? What’s the best way to manage my fear, my annoyance, my outrage and confusion? What can I do to make a difference?

Last week, as I cleaned the debris from my vegetable bed—thoughts of lettuce seeds whirling inside my brain—this season’s garden wisdom became clear to me. This year’s garden lesson had less to do with outside work, and more to do with an inside job: Next time I find myself starting to complain, argue, criticize, grow angry or lose hope, I’ll remember the tiny, miraculous lettuce seeds I love so much. I’ll clear the unwanted weeds from my mind, and plant a seed of loving-kindness in the garden of my heart.

There are many life lessons I still need to learn, but there’s one thing I know for sure: Love conquers all. Once those seeds of love I sow inside my heart germinate and take root, maybe I’ll complain less. Maybe I’ll be a better listener, or less angry and judgmental. Maybe I’ll have more compassion for others, or forgive quicker. Maybe I’ll make a greater effort to understand an opposing viewpoint. Or maybe I’ll be kind enough to give someone the benefit of the doubt instead of hurling criticisms or accusations. And maybe I’ll find some peace of mind and happiness amidst the madness, hatred, and division.

We don’t have to be gardeners in order to sow seeds of loving-kindness and compassion. We can do it anytime, anywhere. As we go about our day, we can watch for opportunities to spread those seeds of love in one form or another. That’s the secret sauce of compassion. That’s how we can transform a harsh, brutal landscape into a verdant field of flowers. Together. If enough of us cultivate our heart gardens, our seeds of loving-kindness will multiply like a fast-spreading groundcover of peace, goodwill, harmony, and happiness.