The holiday season is so full of juxtapositions. I noted this as I walked through the “working gardens” of the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens. The outer ledge of a decrepit shed displayed a festive red-capped gnome alongside a plump bird companion. They seemed delighted to oversee the grounds.
A crimson and yellow machine, having seen better days, still gave off a certain rustic charm.
A couple of latches reminded me how the holidays can make me feel penned in. Expectations float in the air: the desire for gifts, perfection, familial love. Moving toward my inner spirit is what calms this sense of being trapped.
I passed pairs of hinges. Hmm. Such devices allow both closing and opening. Perhaps I needed to open myself to the joy the season can bring.
As I contemplated this, I became oblivious to my surroundings—until a brilliant, magical chair beckoned me to enjoy its presence. It felt like God welcoming me with open arms—a tender gesture of embrace. Isn’t that Christmas in a nutshell? The fragile vulnerability of the Christ child, arms raised, ready to be held and loved?
All photos © Sondra Sula.
Winter on the Mendocino coast is unlike any previous winter I’ve experienced. Blankets of snow are replaced by buckets of rain, and slippery ice by slick mud. Temperatures hover above freezing rather than below, so litter is never swept under the rug of pristine white snowflakes until spring.
A trinity of leaves strewn over the pygmy-poor sand overlap, like family. One is heart-shaped and facing down so that its back veins protrude, forming a miniature tree.
I pass what I presume to be car parts. I am mesmerized by the way four compartments hold water and forest detritus in a rusted engine block as if this were their intended function. The inner workings of a wheel appear to be a clock telling of timelessness.
A pale greenish yellow plastic disc hidden in grass emits a yo-yo-like charm. Even though it is most likely the wheel off a cart, it reminds me how children, when unwrapping presents, often play with the boxes. How they can make dolls out of hollyhock flowers, clothespins or corn husks.
I am offered more presents as I round a bend: a halved pine cone, an axe-chewed bough—its tip an orange flame, a wooden crown fashioned by termites.
My final gifts stand under a small redwood whose needled arms hover as if in blessing. They are fairy-tale mushrooms, otherwise known as amanita muscaria, packaged in brilliant red studded with white. Their graceful gills rise upward to receive their blessing. I, too, have received mine.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 