Yesterday afternoon, I went outside to begin weeding my side yard. I soon found myself trying to decide what to pull and what to leave. I’d intended to pull everything growing where only rocks were supposed to be. However, when I first walked into the yard, I encountered this wonderfully fragrant scent. It was so beautiful and made me nostalgic for our former California Bay Area home–the scent reminded me of the star jasmine which used to bloom in our backyard every June.
Then, as I passed over that group of “weeds” momentarily, the next group I encountered turned out to be the living quarters for a handful of ladybugs. Encountering the ladybugs brought back a different set of memories–the first memory took me back to my childhood when I would pick up ladybugs on my fingers and then recite the “ladybug rhyme.” If you don’t remember it, here is the version we sang as children: “Ladybug, ladybug fly away home, your house is on fire and your children are gone.” As soon as we would finish the verse–if the ladybug had not yet flown away–we would blow on her and watch this lovely creature expose her hidden wings and then fly off.
The other memory that next came to me was the little book I used to read to my girls about ladybugs. That book was filled with beautifully vibrant photos of this bright red-and-black-dotted insect. Ladybugs were magical childhood fairies to both me and my daughters.
There I stood in a quandary. Which weeds should I actually pull? And what in actuality is a weed? In our yard here in Colorado, much of what grows intentionally is native to the area–native grasses and native perennials were planted here by the previous owner. What might be considered a weed to someone else could be a beautiful flowering plant in our yard. It’s kind of like the adage used in the freecycling world, “One person’s trash can be another’s treasure.”
Two definitions of a weed are: “(1) a valueless plant growing wild, esp. one that grows on cultivated ground to the exclusion or injury of the desired crop; and (2) any undesirable or troublesome plant, esp. one that grows profusely where it is not wanted: The vacant lot was covered with weeds.” So, is not a weed any plant that any of us deem valueless and/or troublesome? It is up to me to decide what in my yard is truly a weed–which plants are a nuisance and/or causing harm to other plants in my yard and which plants are troublesome or bothersome.
All of this leads me to think about perceptions. Especially mine. Translation: what I think of as important, significant, or special may not be the same for others.
Since early 2010, I’ve been working hard putting together workshops which I believe contain invaluable information for people–information that can help them deepen their connection to their own health and to the health of our planet. Yet, to date, only a handful of people have attended a couple of my workshops. I’m beginning to wonder what this may mean.
My life experience of having had cancer as well as watching my father live with cancer almost 15 years ago connected me to the various environmental factors contributing to society’s health challenges as well as the challenges facing our planet. It took those personal experiences for me to begin looking deeper and questioning the status quo. All of my investigative curiosity of the past three years led me to see the interconnection of much of what is taking place with regard to stressors, illness, and disease states. Coupled with that is the profound awe I’ve experienced as I’ve witnessed the resiliency of human life and our planet. We all want to continue to live in good health and to thrive–we all continue to seek to maintain or return to balance, to homeostasis.
Today I ponder how I can help. In the same way I will not spray pesticides on weeds, maybe my workshops are not really what is needed to perpetuate the health and well-being of my fellow human beings and Mother Earth. Maybe something different is necessary.
Yesterday, I left those weeds in my yard which are providing housing and a beautiful aromatic atmosphere for all to enjoy. I will wait until they’ve finished blooming and reevaluate what to do next. In the same way, for now I’ll leave my workshops “as is” while I continue to ponder what–if anything–needs to change. Whether it’s me, my workshops, my marketing, or something else, I’ll let things lie for the moment in order to choose what will enhance life rather than take away from my contributions to the health and well-being of all.
