There is some type of viney weed that grows on the back edge of our property along a lovely rock wall. When we first moved here six years ago, this weed was thriving. It had wound itself around a lilac bush, choked off the growth of a once-beautiful burning bush and twisted its way up and around the trunks and into the branches of several trees, determined to take over and squeeze the life out of these other, more desirable and healthy garden plants.
Over the years, I have continually done my best to thwart the vine’s attempts to thrive....cutting it back, pulling up its roots, loosening its grip on the surrounding greenery. Sometimes life gets busy and I forget about the vine for weeks at a time, but the weed never forgets, never stops growing. Before I know it, there it is again with its sticky, curly, tenacious tendrils draping and winding up, up, up. This past spring I put in a good three to four hours yanking on it, hacking off its woody stalks and balling up and tossing out yards and yards of its handiwork. And still: it thrives. Still, it finds new and more crafty ways to travel underground and pop up elsewhere in the yard as a new menace to yet another area of planned, purposeful beauty.
After six years of this, I feel like this weed and I are in a relationship. I find myself talking to it as I work along the rock wall, marveling aloud at its will to live, its determination to “be,” however bothersome and irritating I may find its ongoing presence. “Hello, weed. I see you’ve been quite busy this last week. The rain seems to have softened the ground and aided your tireless efforts.”
Sometimes I’m frustrated and less-than-impressed with my weed’s stunning tenacity. “I hate you, you piece of shit. Get out of my yard or I’ll get out the Round Up and blast your ass.”
Here and there, I have the time and energy to match the weed’s ardor for growth with my own enthusiasm for its annihilation and happily spend several moments plucking small, tender weeds up by the roots...tens and tens of them. The growing pile in my hand feels powerful. My black-eyed Susans almost wink in collusion. It never escapes me, though, that this amazing vine has adapted quite nicely to human attempts at uprooting and thwarting it, as time and again the shoots break off at ground level as I try to pull them up root-and-all. "I'm still here," it seems to be whispering, "even if you can't see me, I am here just beneath the surface." What an admirable and worthy foe. It’s almost too bad that it’s NOT a wanted plant, that it’s a parasite and a killer of the good stuff.
I’ve been wondering for a while now about this vine and its possible purpose in my daily round. Certainly there’s something to be learned here for me....and perhaps for you, too, dear reader. I’ve decided that, for me, the weed is a reminder of the ever-present possibility of allowing the “wrong thing” to take root and grow in my life. I think all of us have a secret (or not-so-secret) broken place, something that lurks around in the dark corners of our lives that needs examination...light...honesty...monitoring...management....and yes even perhaps annihilation. Each of us may give this “something” a different name: addictions of various types come to mind, wily wounds from the past that pester and bother and fester in our current lives, too. Perhaps we refer to our secret something as a “guilty pleasure” or a “bad habit.” I know what mine is and where it “lives” in me, and I think that’s half the battle won. Becoming and staying aware of its crafty and coy nature, I become stronger. Understanding its many disguises and tricks used to gain a foothold in my otherwise joyful and carefree life, I’m better prepared.
Like the viney weed in my yard, I am in a relationship with this aspect of myself. Modern day spiritual/psychological gurus like Wayne Dyer and Eckhart Tolle would refer to this part within all of us as our “ego” or “childlike self.” A helpful reminder for me is this: “my ego is NOT my friend.” Left to its own devices, this part of me can take over...especially when I’m feeling weak, tired, lacking. Without my constant presence of mind and “weeding techniques,” I easily become inundated with negativity, bogged down by a heaviness of heart or swept away in self-indulgent fantasies. Working with my viney weed has helped me to better understand this secret something that resides inside of me and to have a certain amount of respect and tenderness towards it. It’s not something that will ever completely go away, perhaps. It needs a certain amount of attention, preferably daily, to keep it in check. A little bit of work each day and I can keep it at bay, keep it from growing, festering, taking over. I like the metaphor. Now, each time I’m weeding that back edge of my property, I am reminded not only to weed my own inner garden but also to nourish the tender shoots of what’s most beautiful in me and in my life, to pay attention to what’s good and what’s lovely in and around me. Nature is such an amazing and powerful teacher, yes? Namaste.
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