Meditation and Gardening

Jeremiah 29:4-7
4 This is what the Lord Almighty, the God of Israel, says to all those I carried into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: 5 “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. 6 Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. 7 Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

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Ah, the many stories I want to tell.

Yesterday, I didn’t feel well mentally. I realized it was because I hadn’t been outside much. The Lord knows how much I need the outdoors. It steadies me. It clears my head. When I stay in too long, something in me feels confined.

I stepped outside a few times to check on my garden, this time without a mask, confident that those brief visits wouldn’t trigger anything. How little I understood this city—and this season. At first, I slept a lot. Then I ate my usual simple meals and went to bed early. When I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I felt that familiar discomfort on the left side of my face—the same sensation I’ve had before during allergy flare-ups. My first thought was to blame the window AC. But when I checked the city’s pollen levels, they had been extremely high for days—over 9 on the scale.

I turned off the AC for the rest of the night and felt better. I considered limiting myself indoors again, but that felt like shortchanging my health. My near-daily walks and active lifestyle are the very reasons I’ve remained relatively free of major disease and disability. To suddenly restrict myself out of fear felt unacceptable to my psyche.

So I used Flonase, put on a mask, and decided I would face the outdoors—but wisely. With heavy winds carrying pollen and mold, it seemed like a good day to test my limits. I chose the quieter park instead of the one by the water. Less traffic, easier parking, fewer people. I still feel a little self-conscious walking with a mask when no one else is wearing one, but I went anyway. I started around 9:30 a.m. and finished a little after 11. Long enough exposure, I thought. Now we wait and see.

Back home, I had half a protein drink, three slices of bread, and tea. I took my medications without even checking my blood sugar—I knew it would likely be elevated by that hour. I planned to shower, but my hair needed trimming, so I set up my clippers and took care of that first. Then I showered.

By afternoon I felt better—just sleepy. Some increased nasal drainage, which had started after the Flonase. I paid my mortgage online and did the meditation I had missed that morning.

I burned a lot of calories on that walk, so I allowed myself a few more carbs at lunch, especially since I had taken my diabetes medications. I had planned to read On the Road by Jack Kerouac, but my body had other plans. It was exhausted. I gave in and napped. When I woke up, I had mild sinus congestion and postnasal drip—probably the allergens in the air. At least now I have a reasonable excuse to stay indoors tomorrow and perhaps visit the gym for treadmill work and light weights. I’ve missed my weekly strength training lately because gardening has taken over—and gardening, in its own way, can stress the arms like weightlifting.

I posted my Sunday reel today, pairing it with religious music to reflect the value of walking alone with the Lord. There wasn’t much activity at John Prince Park—probably many people my age are also cautious during allergy season. I saw walkers, but not many playing games. It was peaceful. I wish I could do this daily without consequence, but my respiratory system has its limits. I must be content with what I can do. For many my age and with my condition, even this level of activity would be a lot.

As for the coming week, I’m setting gentle goals. I was tempted to post more online, but what’s the point when there’s hardly an audience? And truthfully, I prefer it that way. I want to focus on finishing On the Road within three days. I’ll work on my health blog and edit a few meditative pieces for my fiction site—read by only a handful, but that handful matters. I checked the site today and was surprised to see more countries accessing it, even a few engaging. The health website gets traffic but little interaction. That’s fine.

This morning, I completed a short poem. Yesterday, I finished a book review. In other words, I am more productive than I sometimes give myself credit for.

One lesson I am finally learning is to rest when my body asks for it. When fatigue comes—yawning, drifting, losing focus—I now see it as wisdom, not weakness. In the past, I fought it. I would drive somewhere, force activity, try to outrun the tiredness. Until last year, when my body broke down and I was fortunate it was only a minor illness. It could have been worse.

Now I pace myself. I rest when needed. I no longer feel compelled to post on social media as though my life must be performed for an audience. I am returning to a quieter measure of accomplishment—personal, authentic, unseen. If I share my walks, it is only to encourage movement, especially for people my age. Beyond that, there is no need to broadcast my life like a reality show.

Today’s Scripture felt especially close to home:

“Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce.”

That is exactly what I’ve been doing. I live in my modest home. I tend my garden. I’ve harvested okra before, and recently I thought I saw an eggplant beginning to form—even after I had nearly given up on those plants during the cooler months.

My tropical ornamentals are thriving: monsteras, philodendrons, colocasias, aglaonemas, pothos. I’ve had success with propagation—even after rodents destroyed some of my elephant ear bulbs and young angel wing plants. My dracaena cuttings are rooting. New trinettes and copperleaf cuttings are showing signs of life. Bougainvillea and hibiscus planters are maturing after surviving their cutting phase.

These are small victories, but they are deeply satisfying. Gardening gives me something to anticipate each day: a new leaf unfurling, a cutting taking root, a plant surviving another night. It is accomplishment without performance. The plants perform quietly—for me alone.

And that, perhaps, is enough.
2026-02-16 13:25:32
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