Belief in Practice

Yoga has taught me how to have mutually uplifting work relationships. Thankfully, my primary work relationship is with my teacher and yoga mentor, who models clear, respectful, application of the yamas in her personal and professional life. It is so gratifying to work with a clear, shared, moral code.

I also manage Rooted Landscaping with Kevin. It's interesting comparing the two experiences. In Rooted, there's more anonymity with most of our customers, because I correspond with them via email but haven't met them in person the way I would if I taught them yoga or on a retreat. Also, there isn't the obvious philosophical component as there is in yoga (though permaculture principles certainly overlap). However, Kevin and I work to apply the same yamas to this work as we would to any other part of our life.

For those of you unfamiliar with the yamas, they are a set of guidelines put forth by Patanjali to guide aspirants towards the state of yoga. They are:

Ahimsa -- non-harming
Satya -- truth telling
Asteya -- non-stealing
Brahmacarya -- respecting energies
Aparigraha -- non-grasping

Applying the yamas continually reminds me to obviously not harm a client but also to not harm *myself*. It's easy to run yourself into the ground when you own your own business. Working endlessly, not having professional and personal boundaries, is unsustainable. To be fully present, I have to actively create time for rest, play, and replenishment.

Telling the truth also means not telling white lies. We are all taught to people please and there is even common thought to white wash in professional communication. Of course, we all have to exercise judgment, but I am continually taught in yogic theory to be honest. Honest about my time, availability, and clarity in managing expectations.

Non-stealing. Absolutely. Offering transparent estimates so that people understand where their resources go. Also, non-stealing from myself! It's easy to work a lot and underestimate your labor hours. Running a small business for several years has shown us how easy it is to work hard and for free! So not stealing from a customer, but also not from ourselves.

Brahmacarya has to do with sexual energies, abstaining from encounters that simply release your life force without meaning or connection, and making sure that every interaction is mutually uplifting. In regards to professional life, I reflect on the idea of making encounters mutually uplifting. Seeing the best in others and offering my best self.

Non-grasping. Not reaching for every job, not feeling a sense of desperation. We've found we do the best work when we're mindful, not over-extended, and have a manageable schedule.

This time of year, the landscaping business takes the majority of my time and energy. Sometimes that can feel overwhelming. Increasingly, I'm looking at it as an opportunity to apply these principles. It's easy to apply the yamas when we feel like our circumstances are conducive. When we're stressed, it's simple to fall into default patterns that might not raise us into our higher selves. Demanding periods are *exactly* the time to meditate consistently and look at every interaction as an opportunity to practice yoga. Jai!

Survival of the Blueberries

I'm beginning to realize that growing food on the scale we hope to requires help. I'm grateful to receive it!

Yesterday, Kevin had to put his truck in the shop (again!). He had some workers with him so he asked them to work on our property.

They hooked it up! Rooted Landscaping rocks!

Last year, we planted 15 blueberry bushes. I was worried about them. Their beds were weedy and I hadn't had time to check on who made it through the extreme cold. Their beds are now cleared, compost added, and fertilizer. Of the 15 transplanted, 14 survivors! Awesome rate.

Behind the garage, the persimmon tree is leafing out. To the right of the clothes lines, our bicycle wheel trellis is covered in leafy conchord grape vines. In the bed below, bok choy self-seeded and is returning. The service berry is growing healthfully and the fig on the far edge of the trellis is leafing out as well. The main greenery behind the clothes lines are beds of garlic almost ready for harvest. Behind them, kale, spinach, carrots, peas, turnips, and radishes. In the foreground, in front of the clothes lines, mustard greens, and off screen to the left, swiss chard. In the front yard there's a bed full of horseradish, potatoes, chives, and a pot of mint. The lavender plants were pruned in February and are starting to bud out. And the strawberry patch in the front yard? Lawd! Full of flowers. The blackberry and raspberry brambles in the backyard are reaching towards the apple trees, cherry, peach, and paw paw.

This upcoming weekend we'll get in some annual vegetables. Kevin has been sheet mulching all the paths with leaves he cleaned up from client's properties. The soil back there is RICH!

Worship what stops you

My current obsessions are mosquitoes, poison ivy, and bees. I am absolutely not immune to the threats these creatures pose. In fact, I once had a case of poison ivy that went systemic and required I take a course of steroids to treat. I get bit by whatever bites.

How interesting, though, that the creatures that often pester or threaten us the most are so small and seemingly vulnerable.

A recent episode of RadioLab explored the epic battle royale that has existed between humans and mosquitoes for some time now. Full disclosure, I haven't heard the episode yet. I received the second-hand synopsis from Kevin. The program reminded listeners that in parts of the world mosquitoes carry the threat of malaria. I totally get it. My blood is malarial. I was infected while in Zambia in 1999. Of course, I was able to receive treatment, so my only lasting impact is that I can't donate blood. The reality for many is far more dire.

The poison ivy flower is totally pretty!

There has been research into eradicating mosquitoes, for the public health reason of malaria, because people don't like them, and don't know what function they serve.

That last thought troubles me. There are a lot of creatures and phenomena that I don't understand. And yet, I see a multitude of evidence telling me that all natural creatures serve functions. I may not know what they are, but I'm an idiot in a lot of ways.

The researcher on RadioLab made the same case. He's cautioning against various proposals to eradicate mosquito populations exactly because we don't know their exact function. Based on his research, he speculates that mosquitoes may serve as a needed barrier against human settlement. Typically, mosquitoes are dense in tropical regions like the Amazon. Apart from small groups of people who either developed immunity or found salves in the jungle to protect against mosquitoes, the insects created an effective barrier against human encroachment.

Again, this is just a theory. But I LOVE it.

Kevin also recently discovered that poison ivy is a native species, or as native as can be determined at this point. Poison ivy certainly predates European settlement. Poison ivy flowers also offer needed pollen to support bee populations.

And we're all clear on why bees are important, right?

Poison ivy and bees serve multiple known functions. Perhaps, poison ivy, bees, and mosquitoes also serve the needed function of limiting human expansion. Maybe they're all a highly effective warning for humans to leave some regions.

I think we should worship them. I think we should laud and acclaim and support the boundaries. Heeding mosquitoes' warning at the edge of the Amazon could have limited widespread deforestation and left the earth's lungs to support us and the rest of living creatures. Healthy bee populations keep us fed. Perhaps poison ivy is policing forests or other fragile zones.

Blessings to mosquitoes
who shoo me away
Blessings to mosquitoes
marking my skin, pricking
blood to the surface
drawing depths to light
saying, "Don't be
precious, be real."

Prayers to poison ivy
that tattoos my skin,
erecting castles on joints,
dribbling flesh like
sand, saying, "patience,
stay with sensation.
Honor leaves."

Deep bows to bees who
buzz, who hum, who
feed, who flower, who
honor Divine Feminine.
Blessings to bees who
shock me awake, blush
my skin like love, swell
my skin like life.
Praises to bees who remind
me to watch where I
step, to mind what's
small & powerful, to remember
there's sweetness in danger,
to sometimes, be
so still.

Pranams to the boundaries,
to the keepers of the
gate, to sacred limitations,
to reminders blooming
on skin.

Feminism, Relationships, Individual worth, & money. Ayn Rand is in my head!

About two years ago, Kevin asked me to quit one of my jobs, waiting tables, so that I could partner with him on Rooted Landscaping. We've been together well over 10 years and have joint bank accounts. Until we got Rooted more organized (part of the impetus for me to come on board) I wouldn't have a salary per se. On paper at least, I wouldn't earn much of anything.

Even though I was working for Rooted, because our income wasn't separated, I felt like a kept woman. If Kevin and I weren't a couple, I wouldn't be able to support myself.

I was freaking out.

Around the same time, a friend of mine moved into the area. Given the economy and the fact that she was a fresh transplant, it took her months to find work. Thankfully, she was also in a relationship where her partner could support the two of them. She didn't lay around and eat bon bons. She finished a book she'd been working on for years, volunteered in a field where she'd created international non-profits, and kept their house spotlessly clean.

She was freaking out.

Recently, another friend described her transition from a good job, but not the right one for her, into a graduate program that would allow her to work in a new field. Her job is driving her nuts, which means she's driving her husband nuts. He's urging her to quit and take a break before beginning grad school. Leaving her job is inevitable, the question is when. She's waiting to leave a job that she's not fond of because if she went now, she'd be completely reliant on her husband's income (for only a few months!). Which they could handle.

But the thought is freaking her out.

In each conversation with these women, our eyebrows raised, our hands gesticulating wildly, we exclaimed, "He'll resent me! I can't take care of myself! I'm a bad feminist!"

So weird.

I'm sure all of our individual politics and beliefs vary, but none of us are too keen in total capitalism and we're not racing to be rich. For me, personally, I believe whole-heartedly in interdependence and less reliance on money. I'm not impressed by wealth accumulation nor fancy careers. I believe we should all focus on health for ourselves, our communities, and our environment.

Yet, in a total about face, I feel like I have to have enough income at any given moment to support myself in the lifestyle to which I've become accustomed. Which is (by global standards) extravagant and unnecessary.

I absolutely believe that communities should support one another. Children and elders should be supported by those who can generate resources. Their value is outside of economic scale. Similarly, when people are ill or parents are on maternity or paternity leave, they shouldn't worry about income. There are reasonable times when any of our work will not be remunerated.

In the layers below my intellect, there's something residual, a lingering belief that causes my emotional strings to spasm when triggered-- I still equate independence and responsibility with money.

Why?

In each of the instances outlined in the introduction, the partners in the equation were TOTALLY OK with providing for their partner. In each instance, both parties were contributing to the welfare of the whole, but not all work was financially compensated. Thankfully, these were situations where at least one party had sufficient gainful employment to support their beloved.

That spasm-y emote-string reverberates with, "I'll be a mooch. He'll resent me." All the nonsense rhetoric unfairly applied to those who receive welfare (and not justly applied to the corporations truly bleeding the public coffers). These aren't even my politics?! Why are they in my head?!

I PURPOSEFULLY built a life that is based on stability but not accumulation. I intentionally have invested in community and purposeful work at the expense of excess things/stuff/money. I committed to someone with shared goals and beliefs. And yet. Lurking. Just below.

This thing.

So what's up with this? I can speculate a bit. I'm 33. The friends I profiled range from 30-45. We were all pretty conscious in the 80s and 90s when a lot of lip service was given to women having careers outside the home, "having it all," being independent. My older sister was always my hero. I always knew she was and would be self-sufficient. I knew that I would be too.

I didn't anticipate the varied compromises and unexpected scenarios of adult life, specifically in partnership. I didn't realize the array of decisions on any given day. I didn't realize that all my unexamined beliefs would surface so that I could blessedly know myself, even when the process feels freaky and foreign.

It took me a solid year of freaking out before I acknowledged that I work, I contribute, my worth is not a paycheck. I still think about this stuff. Rooted is also getting to the point where I could track my own salary, though I haven't yet.

We're the generation born to feminists, me thinks. I'm grateful for the women who preceed and mentor me. I wonder what I have to pass down to the next? That the models of independence we're erecting can be nuanced? That we can disentangle independence and respect from earnings? That we can create our own economies of barter and trade, and offer energy?

Early in our relationship, Kevin said something really insightful to me. "Politically, you believe in interdependence, but emotionally, you're on board with Ayn Rand. What's up with that?"

Truly.

Borderlands

When I remember Cuba, I think of escape.

This morning I read a poetry prompt about place. The reader is invited to think of a place where something happened.

I thought of listening to Wyclef Jean on the roof of my semester-long home in Havana.

During that semester, the students in my study abroad program and I converted a University Hotel in the Vedado section of La Habana to a dorm. The second story was our haven from the incessant hisses and invitations endemic to walking the streets of La Habana. Though I think many of my classmates were less troubled by the quick intimacy of Cuban relationships than myself.

I was hiding.

I spent hours in my room watching CNN. The first month of our semester abroad the World Trade Centers dropped after the plane crashes. I saw the footage looped from my urban tropical dorm room. When I truly drove my roommate nuts, I went up to the roof. Three stories above our neighbors playing dominoes on over-turned milk crates. Three blocks uphill from El Malecon, the crumbling wall holding the Caribbean Sea at bay.

One night, my roommate and I wandered down to the always populated Malecon. We stood on the lip of the wall. It was one am, which I guess must have been high tide. The waves crashed against the wall and steamed the tops of our heads. My roommate, Kieu, was from LA. She was used to late night visits with big water.

During the day I sometimes took runs along El Malecon. I put headphones on to try to deter the inevitable friendships of walking the streets of La Habana. It rarely worked. I would try to out-run those who wanted to talk to me.

Back home, a family I didn't know how to be a part of, a relationship that had been long-dead. The embargo kept so much at bay.

I walked up to the roof at night, felt balmy sea breezes, watched life lived stories below, and listened to my walkman.

I guess the thing that happened was I became accustomed to life without them. The whole world changed that semester. When I landed in Newark that winter, American flags dangled from every conceivable surface. Patriotism hung in the air in equal parts fearful and aggressive.

Soon after my arrival, we both conceded the relationship was long gone. We made our peace while I was out of range for phone calls and emails. When I got back to the States I moved out, left college, and cut ties.

On the rooftop in Havana, I made peace with life on my own terms.

Salty Words

It's National Poetry Month! I've been writing a poem a day, but privately. I have some raw material today that I thought I'd splash into the world. I always welcome feedback.

Grow a Pair

And a backbone.
Stop apologizing for
every inhale.
Stop swallowing your
words.

You're happiest tied
to railroad tracks;
unleashing your hair
from the castle tower;
sleeping for decades
under glass.

Get up and make a
trail of muddy boot
prints.
Publish every one of
their whispers.
Steal their leverage.

I dream of islands because
they are calloused scar
tissue rising from
the sea.

Prepping potatoes

Cutting potatoes to dry and then plant. Always makes me think of my maternal grandmother. Towards the end, I was quick with questions, "What was your mother like? What games did you play?" She was playfully evasive. 

I gathered one story.

Her father was on the board of the bank. Their farm was worked by white share-croppers. They did plant some themselves. Her father was busy, arriving home late. My grandmother wanted to help him, so she began prepping the potatoes for planting. She cut through the eye of every potato, thereby ruining the seed stock. When he returned to her eager helpfulness, a flash across his face informed her of her mistake. But he thanked her, graciously accepted the seed potatoes, and moved towards the fields as though he would plant them.

Every time I plant potatoes, I think of graciousness.