A Point in Time That Still Exits
I have a delightful man from Belize, who, along with his two shiny daughters, tends my garden on Bird Key. The garden is a sanctuary for birds and butterflies, beautiful tropical plants, koi fish, snakes, frogs, geckos…all manner of wildlife congregate in this tiny hedge encircled space.
My gardener has worked for very significant master gardeners in other parts of the world and understands the language of my many exotic plants very well. He looks at them, not as separate fodder, but as sentient beings with lineages that harken from places like Indonesia and Malaysia, the wilds of Borneo and beyond. And, he views them as beings connected to him, as their caretaker.
We had a poignant discussion about the temporal nature of spaces like these. My garden is in full bloom right now and is a riot of gardenias, llang-llang, jasmine, orchids, magnolias and vanilla. Spring in the tropics is heady and fragrant; one show stopper after the next competing for attention.
I likely will be leaving my garden soon, entering into a new phase of my life. I was remembering the incredible perennial gardens I had in Northern Wisconsin, and how once the new owners took over the property they were reduced to rot.
My gardener was understanding my angst around leaving this decade of work and the deep relationships I have with the plants and creatures in my garden.
“I know you love them ‘mam. You can see it reflected in their faces. They follow you as you walk through your garden,” He ventured.
“Do not be sad about leaving them. Yes they will be gone. No one will likely give them this care. But they will continue to exist as a moment in time. A place in the universe that was holy and connected and continues to exist.
“People that love plants and butterflies, birds and little creatures in this way carry that peace with them through their lives. There may be other gardens, or there may not. It isn’t important. What is important is that this place of sanctuary existed for this time, in this place and it can never be erased from the fabric of life.”
I was so touched by his kind words and his understanding of my profound sense of loss at the thought of leaving this garden. I resonated with his visceral understanding of the nature of time and space, how we travel through it, and how the sacred, in its many forms, always remains with us.
His sweet daughters came to distract me, asking me to explain the various culinary plants in the garden. We launched into an animated discussion of how to use curry leaves, kafir lime leaves, lemon grass, tamarind pods, and loquats. The beautiful young women took the time to ask for recipes, the orgins of the plants, the means through which they came into my life. We talked about the Great Lord Buddha and his relationship to the Ashoka tree, the woman in rural India who showed me how to use my Neem tree for medicinal purposes, the lily bulbs a friend of my grandmother brought back in his flak jacket from the WW2 battle at Guadalcanal and the long proboscis of moth that fertilizes the vanilla plant.
I remembered, out of some obscure buried file in my brain, the meaning of the word Ashoka in Hindi: Sorrowless.
As I stroked the leaves of my beloved tree, butterflies swirling, and watched the girls’ delight in the sparkle of sun on the cascade of water that runs from the meditation platform at the base of the tree, I felt the ocean breeze play with my hair, lighten my soul’s burden.
I realized these three angels from Belize appeared in my garden so I can move forward from this sanctuary of love, holding its energy in my heart, and find what lies beyond the curve of the horizon. For their gift of witness and the divine that surrounds us all, I am grateful beyond all reckoning.
By Margaret D Kruger
Copyright April 2018
Sarasota FL 34236
