Mindfulness in the Garden: Zen Tools for Digging in the Dirt
by Zachiah Murray, RLA
Parallax Press www.parallax.org
Illustrations: Jason DeAntonis
150 pages

Mindfulness in the Garden is a little gem of a book.

Each chapter of the book is introduced by a short verse (gatha), a terse four-line, rhythmic poetic form rooted in the ancient languages of India, Sanskrit and Prakrit. Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh, who writes the book's foreword, says a gatha "helps us to dwell in the present moment and to be deeply aware of the action we are doing so that we can perform it with understanding and love."

Upon hearing the word "Zen," some may roll their eyes, imagining some New Age mumbo jumbo, but Zen, of course is "old school," tracing its roots to the school of Mahayana Buddhism in 6th century China. And judging by the daily onslaught of online news of people behaving irrationally and murderously, a little Zen is something we all need a liberal daily dose of.

In fact, upon reading the first couple sentences of Hanh's foreword, which happened to come at the end of a busy work day, I felt a sort of tranquility for the first time all day at work. Hanh writes: "The garden is a perfect place to practice mindfulness. Watering, planting, touching the earth, and letting your fingers feel the soil are wonderfully restorative activities. "?(R)? Mindfulness practice is based on our deep awareness of the present moment. So many of us feel alienated because we've lost our awareness of the interconnectedness of all things. In the garden we are surrounded by beautiful examples of our relationship with nature."

Reflecting on my day, I realized my visit to the local nursery during my lunch hour that day had been a "mindful" time. It was a blue sky, warm sunshine day and I had closely examined a number of trees on site, as I'm in the market for a new tree in my back yard. I noticed the colors, shapes and textures of their foliage and trunks, smelled the aromas of their flower blossoms, and watched the bees flit about. I was certainly "in the moment" and aware of the "interconnectedness of all things."

And then I read Zachiah Murray's introduction and her recalling at the age of eight doing gardening in a corner of her yard where a row of Russian olive trees lived: "I surrendered many childhood struggles at the feet of those olive trees. I found solace in their silent presence. Grateful for their company, I instinctively knew my survival was intimately connected to theirs."

One of her gathas expresses that feeling:
Looking deeply at the tree,
I feel its presence.
In its stillness,
I find my true being.

She adds: "The tree carries the ancient wind, the seas's rain, and the sun of many years within itself. Its profound presence arrives in us as stillness. Breathing mindfully, we embody this stillness. Becoming still like the tree, our thoughts can be left at the garden's gate and we can simply be ourselves."

I have a feeling that just spending a few moments with this book now and then would be the Zen moment we all need on a daily basis.