One glance at my garden used to leave me gnashing my teeth. Weeds were everywhere. If one of my plants wasn’t doing well, it was usually sharing its little plot of the world with a healthy green squatter.
From experience, I can assure you that no amount of cursing will kill a weed. I have found no four-letter words that squash them into non-existence. Although some yield beautiful flowers, many of them just plain stink and, if you do any gardening at all, you’ve had to deal with them. No matter what—they return (especially if you break them off at the roots).
Every year, weary of hoeing, yanking, pulling and digging, I search for an easy way to rid myself of the problem. There are sprays, solutions and amazing tools that can “cut your weeding time to a fraction of what it presently is for 3 easy payments of $19.95.” It’s true. I saw it on TV. So, I buy some new gadget, hoping for a magic fix. I end up selling it the following spring to some poor garage sale customer who’s, “always wanted to try one of these.”
Lately, my desire for emotional and spiritual growth leads me to explore, with great humility, those parts of myself that hold me back when I need to stretch and breathe. That said, I have come to the conclusion that, despite the weed’s undesirable reputation, there is much to be learned from its spirit.