Garden not only place in need of weeding
Finally, after days of searing, hot sun, the rains came. Lucky me, as it’s my day to tend the church garden.
Weeding, the roots come out of the wet soil easily. Fingers grasping right at the union of weed to earth, I pull. Mostly it’s crabgrass with its tentacle-like arms, reaching for the open areas around it, unplanted with beautiful flowers. I imagine it’s called “crab” grass because it sidles, crab-like, under the garden fence.
I equate the earth with my brain, the weeds with my prejudices, my hurtful feelings and emotions. Can I weed myself like I weed the garden? Like the little engine that could, I think I can, I think I can. Alone here, I enjoy the quiet, calm beauty of the flowers as I work. I concentrate on the crabgrass, loosening the bigger roots with a spade before I yank it. Maybe, hopefully, loosening the soil of my brain — my soul — to new ideas and new information that will rid me of my prejudices and racism to allow the flowers of love and kindness to bloom.
Americans, it’s time to weed out our government’s policies and systems.