Geography of the Soul

“The many great gardens of the world, of literature and poetry, of painting and music,
of religion and architecture, all make the point as clear as possible:  The soul cannot
thrive in the absence of a garden.  If you don't want paradise, you are not human;
and if you are not human, you don't have a soul.”
-  Thomas Moore, The Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life

The valley where I live is in November’s glory now, all orange and gold with the dotted exception of evergreens here I love the burnished mountainside gleaming like a copper kettle in the sun.  It is a crisp afternoon, the best kind.  A little cold is necessary to make this magic happen. I watch the clouds that cause great shadows to move across the earth, across the dried marsh reeds that wave in the brisk breeze like wheat.  The earth is fair, at times blond, at this time of year.  I see my own hair in the landscape and am glad.  I breathe, taking in the clean air… taking in the whole world.

It is so vital and enjoyable to make this spirit-earth connection, to practice being unified, filled, with God’s creation. The seasons invite us to share in the constant cycle of the paschal mystery of Christ.  The New Testament invites us to see our souls in the land, the garden.  Jesus utilizes images of trees, shrubs, seeds, vineyards, fruit and harvest to show us how our faith and spiritual growth are sown, reaped, pruned, weeded, guarded, even burned by the Master Gardener, all in the desire for proper growth and an abundant yield. 

In Matthew 13, Jesus shares the parable of what happens when a farmer scatters his seeds (faith) along a path, a rocky place, among thorns and on good soil.  Simply, the seeds of faith are eaten by birds before they can sprout; the new growth is scorched by the sun; the thorns choke the seedlings. In short, even the most fervent faith may dissipate if not grounded in a nourishing community, watered by the wellsprings of prayer, and nurtured by the finest nutrients of God’s Word. 

But these “rocky places” also depict our internal geography – the dry or thorny paths inside that prevent us from a blossoming relationship with God.   Is the bramble of resentment surrounding our heart?   Is the inability to grieve stopping the flow of healing waters to our roots?   Is a lack of prayer stunting growth, keeping our faith hidden from the shining light it needs?