"Everything is on its way to somewhere."
~George Malley, Phenomenon
The evolution of the spirit and of the mind... we're all on our way to somewhere. Are you gritting your teeth and hanging on for dear life to the tattered loops of the handbasket? Or are you a driving force, temerity in one hand, and with the other, pushing the throttle for all it's worth? Or are you standing by, watching the merry-go-round spin?
Growth doesn't happen without process. We can coerce the process toward an outcome in line with our chosing (or wishing), or we can let the process take shape naturally. Neither is an incorrect ideal, but by and large, it's more beneficial to use coersion. For one thing, it makes us think. For another, it gives us control (hence, responsibility in all ways).
Remark, if you will, my raised bed garden. A few weeks ago, I raked and tilled the one bed, and planted potatoes. They're just starting to come up, the leaves have yet to unfurl, but it won't be long and I'll be enjoying some garlic and chive buttermilk smashers. In the meantime, completely unbidden, an interloper horse chestnut buried itself in the bed and is showing impressive growth.
Now, I've been out there daily, dancing to the gods and chanting, "Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Taters, taters, taters, hey!" I haven't said a word about the horse chestnut. Still, it manages to thrive (greedy, tenacious bugger). I don't have the heart to pull the chestnut (egads, does that ever sound like an innuendo loaded euphamism, or what?!) - not yet. Yes, partly because this has become an experiment in metaphor for me.
I know I'm kind of rambling here. Trust me, I am all too aware of my **gallimaufry-esque thought pattern, but there's a moment of brilliance, an "ah-ha!" in there somewhere. Or, maybe I just need to go dig in the dirt some more. Part of me loves the role of the affable little potatoes - that which is fostered, and nourished, and loved and sung to - the ability of the potato to just be, to let it happen. But, in the deeper heart of the gypsy, there is love and utter respect for the feisty little horse chestnut - the ineffable pursuit of life, the stubborn "like it or not, I'm here, dammit" stance.
I'm quite contrary... see how my garden grows. Vie vouloir trouver une voie.
Oh... I found my pace. Simple thing really. Hard to explain.
~George Malley, Phenomenon
**gallimaufry: [gal-uh-maw-free] a kind of sauce or stew. [Fr] A combination of galer to amuse oneself and mafrer to gorge oneself.
~George Malley, Phenomenon
The evolution of the spirit and of the mind... we're all on our way to somewhere. Are you gritting your teeth and hanging on for dear life to the tattered loops of the handbasket? Or are you a driving force, temerity in one hand, and with the other, pushing the throttle for all it's worth? Or are you standing by, watching the merry-go-round spin?
Growth doesn't happen without process. We can coerce the process toward an outcome in line with our chosing (or wishing), or we can let the process take shape naturally. Neither is an incorrect ideal, but by and large, it's more beneficial to use coersion. For one thing, it makes us think. For another, it gives us control (hence, responsibility in all ways).
Remark, if you will, my raised bed garden. A few weeks ago, I raked and tilled the one bed, and planted potatoes. They're just starting to come up, the leaves have yet to unfurl, but it won't be long and I'll be enjoying some garlic and chive buttermilk smashers. In the meantime, completely unbidden, an interloper horse chestnut buried itself in the bed and is showing impressive growth.
Now, I've been out there daily, dancing to the gods and chanting, "Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Taters, taters, taters, hey!" I haven't said a word about the horse chestnut. Still, it manages to thrive (greedy, tenacious bugger). I don't have the heart to pull the chestnut (egads, does that ever sound like an innuendo loaded euphamism, or what?!) - not yet. Yes, partly because this has become an experiment in metaphor for me.
I know I'm kind of rambling here. Trust me, I am all too aware of my **gallimaufry-esque thought pattern, but there's a moment of brilliance, an "ah-ha!" in there somewhere. Or, maybe I just need to go dig in the dirt some more. Part of me loves the role of the affable little potatoes - that which is fostered, and nourished, and loved and sung to - the ability of the potato to just be, to let it happen. But, in the deeper heart of the gypsy, there is love and utter respect for the feisty little horse chestnut - the ineffable pursuit of life, the stubborn "like it or not, I'm here, dammit" stance.
I'm quite contrary... see how my garden grows. Vie vouloir trouver une voie.
Oh... I found my pace. Simple thing really. Hard to explain.
~George Malley, Phenomenon
**gallimaufry: [gal-uh-maw-free] a kind of sauce or stew. [Fr] A combination of galer to amuse oneself and mafrer to gorge oneself.
mxlpexquisitely expressed! I can picture that little invader reeking havoc in the bed! the metaphor is wonderful!! enjoy your day!
ReplyDeletemy island is fabulous.. came home last night and a deer on the lawn..
v
Barb dear, pull up the chestnut carefully and replant it in a pot somewhere keep it alive till one day you can plant it somewhere either in the garden or somewhere it will be appreciated. Problem solved.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteNo no no no...G - you're missing the point. We're having a metaphorical contest on nurture vs. nature. Besides, I've got a freekin' humongous horse chestnut tree in the back yard (where the nuts come from).
ReplyDelete