The Weight of the World and the Will to Grow
On tending what matters when the world feels like too much — and learning to listen to the earth
As I lift dahlia tubers from their packages and boxes, I think of all the farms that have grown them the previous year. Where they washed, dried, stored—and hovered over them for months. Each tuber carries the energy of the farmer, the flower grower.
Some tubers are big and firm and wrapped snugly in potting soil and special waterproof packaging. Others are tossed into a box lined with tissue and a few flakes of sawdust. Others are a bit questionable, the sliced top of a dahlia with no tuber—not one I’d have sent out, but I also know their tenacity and incredible will to grow.
I left my dahlias at the farm when we moved, some the great-great+ grandchildren of the first ones I planted in 2016. Multiple generations of dahlia families. Some of the farms I’ve ordered from this year are ones I sold dahlias to over the years—so, the grandbabies are coming back to a new home. There is something of the sublime in that thought.
As I tick off boxes on my master dahlia spreadsheet, making notes and writing labels, before carefully placing each tuber into a new bag filled with dampened soil, I think how this dahlia addiction is kind of like collecting books, cameras, typewriters, anything that our soul attaches meaning to. And yet in the quiet beneath the meticulous note keeping and careful handling, I can feel an anxiety just below the surface. The world has been nuts recently. I don’t know about you but I’m mentally walking around singing the la-la-la song to block it all out.
We each carry a spark of the divine within us, an individual light that perhaps if we could see from a great distance might become like a mosaic, our energy forces resembling some beautiful mathematical equation, a swirling, flowing, energy of love. How, how do we reach the space within ourselves where we can be at peace enough to sense the magical oneness we share? For myself my way has always been nature. The forest my church. The birds, water running through a stream, bees, the wind—the hymn.
After decades of working as an environmental artist with nature in what might be called deep meditation, seeking to understand the ancient wisdom that holds me, learning the secret of sites, their memories— I had no idea how others might perceive what I was doing. When I began to work more publicly in this way I had shamans sending me emails asking me if I knew that I was working like they do…um, no, not consciously.
I was working in a way that called to my heart, to the deepest part of my soul. A way that felt like truth. I was shy about working in my light—perhaps you are too? I was worried I would be bullied again, as I was as a child. It’s a difficult thing to be different but only wanting to be like everyone else.
So, my work has woven a thread through a rich tapestry, the latest was the farm, where I spent my days on my knees in reverence and service to beauty, to bees, to nature. My hands blessed soil, seeds and water. I stood in tears to see seeds emerge and their flowers beckon bees, and the awe of bounty given in return. The wind carried secrets to my listening ears…an owl’s warning, a raven’s delight, frogs courting serenades, raindrops on leaves.
I have always believed that we are each made this way. Instruments for Nature, schools for souls, gifted the blessing of experiencing this life here surrounded by wonder. But then there is the weight of the world. The decisions of imperfect humans that affect the field. They too are at earth school.
And I’ve always been a teacher, from the time I could speak I was sharing what I was learning, and eventually teaching at colleges and universities. Terrified of public speaking, of being seen. But The Work asked of me to be brave—as it’s continued to do.
And I’ve been wondering — how can I help others, you, to connect deeply with the natural world to be able to come back to your truth and to peace through opening your heart. How can I guide you to meet the earth as I have learned to do.
I began to answer this a few months ago and then put it aside, not being certain if what I had to offer was needed, or wanted…there goes that fear again.
Today I’m stepping into that.
If something in these words has resonated — if you’ve been mentally singing your own la-la-la song lately — this practice is for you.
Listening to the Earth — a gentle 10-minute guided audio practice and workbook. $27