On these mild spring days, Sahaj and I putter around the home and garden. My farmer/gardener husband and his earthy ways, he is out in the early morning planting…red onions, bunching onions, carrots, beets, sugar peas…lilacs, jacob’s ladder, meadow rue. The peonies are full of buds and the bleeding heart opens her blossoms; lining up on stems like charms dangling from a chain. The tulips are waning, faded and papery; rose and berry canes are leafing in the warming sun. Sahaj tells me he thinks he needs more garden space. He feels he is running out of room. As a farmer there is never enough soil to turn, putting his hands and shovel nose deep into the Mother to elicit her favor and bounty. He runs his hands through the soil and feeds her with organic matter rich in nitrogen, compost, worms, love, honor and respect. Once the ground is thawed he is gone, gone, gone…gone completely beyond, turning, tending, planning, and visioning. It is where he serves. It is in his blood, flows through his vein, and brings a bright light to his eyes and a renewed enthusiasm to his step. Sahaj has taught all his children about the land, “love her, take good care of her and she will take good care of you”. It is how he lives…his mantra.
I have asked for a clothesline. A small spot in the yard to place a line or two where I can hang linens out to dry, filling them with the scent of sun ~ and the pleasant simplicity and ease of seeing clothes moving gently on summer days, as the garden grows, the flowers bloom, bees buzz. It calls me into dreams of deep summer where I step out the back door with baskets in hand; one for the linens coming off the line and the other for garden gatherings, holding the generosity of the Mother and the devotion of Sahaj.