During hard times a garden provides solace for the soul and medicine for the senses
Every spot has a voice, a particular taste, a breath of wind unique to itself, a shadow, a presence. – Gardening at the Dragon’s Gate, by Wendy Johnson.
A few weeks ago, I attended an online event hosted by the San Francisco Zen Center. Tender, sweet, and warm it brought together poets, writers, and gardeners. What unfolded was a gathering surrounding the concept of Gardening in Place during the period of Shelter in Place. Due to the ongoing Shelter in Place mandates rolling out throughout the world, many have either discovered or returned to the garden for solace and comfort. During hard times a garden can provide a spark of joy and heal the senses.
Whether for self-sufficiency, necessity, love, or therapy the garden is an incredible place. It satisfies the curious and exploratory. For some, including myself, it’s a therapeutic reunion; a reminder that participating with the natural world is incredibly powerful and remarkably healing.
It became apparent that no matter the style, size, or level of expertise, gardening was an equalizer. It was a practice that was quite dear to all of us and never without magic and serendipity. It helped each one of us get through. It reminded us of our connection with the planet and the community. It softened the bristling effects of social freneticism.
Samin Nosrat, chef, writer, and traveler, whom I adore, lead us through a short sensorial meditation on taste. It was an exercise that stretched our attention and afforded the space to pay particular attention to all the details so often missed when we eat, in this case, an apple.
By eating the apple slowly and thoughtfully, it became a whole body experience. First, we paused in gratitude. Then we noticed its color, shape, and fragrance. We were asked to recall its wildness and where it came from. What was its journey before our hands held it? Did we notice the temperature? What memories did it pull into the present, if any? We delighted in the juiciness, the tambour and crunch when we chewed.
Our bodily sensations and observations are in fact the essence of our experiences. Taste isn’t limited to out mouths. It happens with our sense of smell, touch, and site. It takes place within our mind and heart.
Like Samin Nosrat, I’ve been a cook for decades. Though far away from any limelight I definitely consider it a medium in which I channel my creativity as an artist. It lights me up at the same time it settles me down. It roots me to nature and I love it. I share her sheer love of flavor, people, and craft, because in my opinion, it’s key to enjoying life. It embodies that love is fundamental in recognizing the healing and communal power of food.
Seeing with our hands, smelling with our eyes, and listening to our gut are key to fully experiencing life. The more we can expand into and sharpen our senses the better, for everything has a presence to be discovered. Also anyone who knows their craft well will tell you that paying attention and using all of your senses is the only way you will come to know the true nature of your subject and in turn yourself.
I believe this love and awareness was the underlying current that brought me to Ayurveda. Ayurveda is a language which speaks of our nature through the knowing lens of Nature. In Ayurveda they refer to the saliva, the water in the mouth as bodhaka. This comes from the Sanskrit word bodhana which means, ‘to make known’ ‘to be revealed’.
Eating is satisfying to the body and mind, but that’s the least of it. The tastes within our food reveal a deeper story of memory, balance, and place. It provides nourishment, delight, and can ultimately heal. The moment we really taste something, an aspect of its true nature is made known to us.