Dennis Dossett








“From the Ancient Wisdoms to Quantum Physics,
It's All About the Energy!”

     Once again it is summer, and I find myself staring face-to-face at
     what I seem to grow best in my garden—and in my lawn—WEEDS!

     Strolling around my yard, instinctively I scan
     each square foot for telltale signs of those
     pesky, persistent, plants that, no matter what I do,
     seem to crop up overnight when I am not watching.

     Burdock, Black Medic, Dandelion, Canadian Thistle, Clover,
     Purslane, Oxalis, Timothy, Crabgrass, Pennyroyal, Wild Carrot . . .

     With each new find my spirits drop a little more
     as I contemplate the never-ending battle against
     foes so numerous and so powerful that it seems
     I can never win this perpetual war.

     Himalayan Blackberry, Foxglove, Buttercup, . . . and so many more
     whose names either I can’t remember or that I have never seen before.

     Some dictionaries say a weed is a valueless plant growing wild, especially one
     that grows on cultivated ground to the exclusion or injury of a desired crop.
     I purposely grow beautiful and medicinally useful foxglove in my garden,
     but its aggressive habit makes it an “unwanted weed” among my vegetables.

     And though wild and terribly invasive, I love to pick Himalayan
     blackberries to top my morning cereal or to make a cobbler for dessert.

     Other dictionaries say a weed is any undesirable or troublesome
     plant, especially one that grows profusely where it is not wanted.
     Some of my weeds have pretty little flowers, but they look out-of-place scattered
     in the middle of the lawn or peeking between rows of carrots and beans.

     Some weeds are edible, some medicinal, some actually quite beautiful, but
     in my garden there is a place for everything, and everything is in its place.

     In addition to the vegetables, fruits, and flowers, I grow grass. Not just any grass,
     but lush, green, Kentucky Bluegrass. But at least five different kinds of coarse
     grass species have invaded my once beautiful lawn, and it is now
     an oddly appearing mix of green and brown “who-knows-what? ” WEEDS!

     But today, as I crawl around on my hands and knees digging and pulling weeds,
     I feel a kind of kinship with these intruders into my little idealized garden world.

     Like the caretaker of my home’s garden and lawn, I am also the custodian
     of my personal garden, my life, my soul. Like this season of my little garden,
     my current life is filled with so many useful, and even beautiful, plants: the good
     habits, positive character traits, and a mix of lessons learned and karma repaid.

     Lessons learned in previous seasons were but weeds in former lives; lessons
     yet unlearned are weeds in this life to be purged for the benefit of my soul.

     Persistent, unwanted thoughts; insidious, unrelenting judgment of self and others;
     pervasive doubts; long-standing, centuries-old fears, some of which I am only
     vaguely aware; the incessant demand for perfection in an imperfect world; ... and
     so many whose origins I can’t remember or that I have never recognized before.

     Each revelation drops my spirits a little more as I face the never-ending battle
     against foes so numerous and powerful it seems I can't win this never-ending war.

     There's a place for everything in this universe, and everything is in the perfect
     place for its own evolution
, its own perfection. Lessons unlearned become lessons
     learned; if not now, then later. Who determines when the time is right? I do!
     I
sowed those seeds in past life soils and I choose which weeds to pull NOW.

     Like the gardener of my little summer vegetable plot, I know that every weed I
     pull NOW is one less weed (and all it’s seeds) that I will have to pull in the future.

     Funny how nature mirrors for us if we but open our eyes.

Have a great month!

Dennis





“Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882; American writer and philosopher) ~