Some days I think it would be fine to just sit and watch my tomatoes ripen. When you sit and think of the miracle of planting a little seed in the dirt, giving it water and then crossing your fingers, it boggles the mind when that little shoot comes up, doesn’t it? And then, even better than that, is when the little shoot becomes an actual robust plant and those tiny little flowers start to appear, hinting that you might have done something right with your placement of that pot in the sun and your watering, and your frequent encouraging words.
I sit here now, this early Sunday morning, nestled in my writing space which is in front of a big sliding glass door that over looks the magical place on the back patio where my first ever tomato plant has blessed me with five actual tomatoes. There are other things to look at on the patio. The sunrise is lighting up part of the trees and grass in the yard, and the dogwood that is in my view is always a draw for my eyes. But the tomatoes are different. One is still green. One is half sort of red and half green, a change from yesterday. One is red enough to pick I think, and the last, biggest one is just starting to turn from its green color. Watching my tomatoes is a worthy activity. Not necessarily more worthy than the sun light or the dogwood, but today, watching my tomatoes relieves me from needing to save the world, or transform my life, right this second.
As I sat down to write in my journal today, something that I have been much more faithful at this year, I started, like I often do, staring at the blank screen thinking that the low period I have been experiencing is no good. I stared and tried to come up with something interesting to write about. Something good. Something that would make me feel worthy and right and validated in purpose and meaning. I felt the resistance to not having much to say. I felt the tightness in the blank screen, and in my body. I felt the judgment inside of myself of the last couple of slow, depressed, stressful, emotional weeks I have had. What else is possible, I asked as I stared out the window and my eye caught the one bright red tomato that is ready to be picked.
The waves of creativity that have graced my soul this year have been a miracle. They are interspersed with waves of a much damper sort of feeling. I would have labeled a few of the tsunamis that hit with the word depression earlier this year, but I am recognizing now that it is my judgement that labels. Of course I love the creativity, because it is what leaves me feeling inspired in such a way that I know I was meant to be born. Those waves are that big. The damper waves leave me wondering WTF. They feel dry of meaning, and lack inspiration, which is a nice way of saying that I don’t feel like doing anything when they hit.
Just like the seed though, there is a time for gestation. There is a time for dark and being able to consolidate all your energy. Without that darkness, and the magical things that happen during that time when you regroup and recharge and get ready, you can’t shoot up with all your might and show yourself to the world. The dark, quiet, still time of gathering and consolidating nutrients is what allows for the development, evolution and emergence of the miracle. One needs the other. One is impossible without the other.
So I stare out my window and watch my tomatoes. My quiet, dark time is required for my next miracle. I can honor that for the moment and let the wave flow through and carry me gently. I step outside and head for the ripest tomato, gently squeeze testing it, leaning down to smell its flavor before carefully tugging it off the plant. Standing up I bring it once more to my nose and let the redness fill my eyes as I think about how much better my lunch will be today when I add this tiny little miracle to the menu.
