Zen and the Art of Weeding

Never mind that my son has recently discovered Robert Pirsig's classic Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I have discovered something better.  Zen and the Art of Weeding.  Well, maybe.

So my gardens are in a contest, sponsored  by a local magazine called Dirt.  There are prizes.  I have no idea what they are, but I want one.  They are coming to look at my gardens in ten days, so I have set about to do some major maintenance of said gardens.  Never mind that my snowpeas are stunted and that my tomato plants have blight.  I am going to WEED my way to a prize!

Today I discovered that I can only weed in the early hours of the day when my gardens are shaded somewhat.  Seriously, with a temperature of 90 degrees and who-knows-how-high humidity, there is no way I can spend a full day weeding.  So this morning, I began my quest for a weed-free garden.  And before I knew it, I was in the zone.  It was zen-like.

Zen teaches that the potential to achieve enlightenment is inherent in everyone but lies dormant because of ignorance. It is best awakened not by the study of scripture, the practice of good deeds, rites and ceremonies, or worship of images, but by breaking through the boundaries of mundane logical thought.

Well, I broke through some boundaries, but whether they were the web of underground roots of the weeds or logical thought, I don't know.  I do know that while I was weeding, I lost contact with the real world in which I live and entered into a zone of peace and contentment and purpose.   Despite the sweat rolling off my head, I was content with my thoughts, lost in a ritual of pulling and discarding.  Were my thoughts mundane?  I'm not sure.  Were they other than logical?  Probably not.  Were they life-changing?  Nah, not really.  Were they enlightening?  Maybe.  Were they peaceful?  Absolutely.

Zen.  And the art of falling in love.  With weeding.  It happened.