Debbie Mihal’s Blog

How wonderful that the snow is gone and the birds are singing and my yard is turning into a beautiful field of dandelions, crabgrass, and bindweed! I realized today that I should have been out there Sunday pulling weeds while the ground was still soft from all that moisture we got. Two and a half days of precipitation–it was like living back East.

But, unfortunately, the ground is already drying, turning into that cracked, arid rock that has pained me in so many ways. Why is it that this hard, Colorado clay clings to the roots of the weeds, yet seems to spit out the plants I want to keep? In the past, it has resisted the strength of my arms until they were literally writhing in pain. Often I’ve wondered, why do I fight it?

I’ve given up on the dandelions. They’ve strategized against me by sprouting their flowers so close to the ground I can hardly pinch them off. That was after I strained my body trying to pull them up by the roots and resorted to–this organic gal is ashamed to say–chemical weed killer. I suppose it was instant karma to go against my beliefs like that, but this gal needs her arms to make a living! 

So, what is it that I look for when I select plants to pull and those to keep? Am I looking for perfection, or is the journey about getting my hands in the dirt and expanding on what’s already there? Or am I trying to create something new?

Working with a human body in Structural Integration brings up similar questions. Who am I to decide what patterns someone needs to let go of? Why is it that I can help relieve pain in one shoulder but find it intractable in another?  Yes, of course, I can say that all bodies are different and there are no pat solutions, no formulae that will heal everything. But how does that help anyone?

Then I have to ask: Is the journey with our bodies about avoiding pain or about listening to that pain as if to a trusted friend?

What is your body telling you? Is there pain? Is the pain there to tell you that you need to rest, or is it trying to draw your attention to how you can shift your body, your life, or a perspective to accommodate a new way of being in the world?

Dandelions are medicinal. Is their prevalence in my yard trying to tell me that I need their healing powers? Or is the message to dig them out, and by doing so, get dirt under my nails to remind me of the power and abundance of mother nature?  Or maybe I’m supposed to take a moment to enjoy the incredible beauty and vitality found in every flower. Maybe each season simply brings a new lesson.

One year I used weeding as a lesson in discernment; I was giving myself permission to be selective, to weed out things I no longer had use for in my life. Another year, I pulled the roots and dried them. (Please do your own research before trying this; I am NOT suggesting this as a remedy. And definitely don’t use plants in areas that have been poisoned.) Another year, I reveled in nature’s abundance. I felt that by following nature, I had no need to rid my yard of part of its ecology, and subsequently, by not weeding, I had no pain. Granted, I didn’t like the ugly stalks left after the poofs flew with the wind, yet I found it very satisfying to know I’d helped to feed countless bees and deer.

There is a journey in everything we go through and nothing happens in a vacuum. What is the best way to make the most of our lives? Do we give ourselves the time to explore?

I don’t have the answers. I am certainly one to be frustrated and even downright angry when I feel I’ve learned my lesson, changed my swim stroke, adjusted the seat on my bike, stopped playing cello, and yet still feel the pain. I want to throw my head back and shout at the universe, I got the lesson. Can we move on now? Please! But then I have to look at the possibilities. Maybe I need to consult with someone else or do another adjustment or not be so serious about my activity. Or maybe I simply need to accept what is. With no blame. There is no fault. I’m not saying I want anyone to live with pain. But sometimes I wonder if sometimes we have to, as part of the process of this experience we call life.

This year, I don’t know what I’ll do with my yard. The thing is, even though the dirt is hard as rock, nothing is in stone. I can change my approach, I can do nothing, or I can weed.  Or try something else. Some things I will be sure to do: Observe. Communicate. Live. Explore.