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Jan. 20th, 2009 | 02:08 pm
location: my desk in my room, waiting for my pants to finish drying
Thought: I have three plants which I have been endeavoring to keep alive. One: two sticks of curly bamboo, the easiest as all they require is that I rinse their roots free of mineral build up now and then and keep an inch of water in the vase. Two: a ficus tree which was abandoned by the neighbors, now living atop the drying machine in the laundry room, requiring a cup of water a week and perpetually looking sparse and pathetic as that species tends to do. Three: a sweet little jade tree, also known as a money plant, also known as crassula ovata. I adopted this succulent while my family was out of town on some extended trip once, perhaps out of a feeling of lonesomeness that I am not accustomed too. It is small, a mere seven or so inches tall at the moment, but I love the quirky, almost alien appearance this species takes on when it has lived a decade or two and grown thick.
I was removing a couple dead leaflets from the base and it came to mind how my mother, a notorious green thumb herself, has often advised me to cut off dead leaves or blooms from plants as soon as they appear to wither a bit. It assists the plant because it forgets that a part of it is dead and does not go off dying the rest of the way, and also because its resource intake is not wasted on attempting to revive what is dead.
I thought of instances in which I have cut off parts of my life which were dead, and felt rejuvenated.
Today's "deep" then...
|Do not be afraid to cut something away from yourself when it has withered and died.|
Though once it may have been precious or simply embedded in the way you lived or were, it is often for the best to let go of what cannot be brought back to its former glory or health.
In removing the dead and dying attachments from ourselves, we free up room and resources for our soul and existence to be bettered, to move forward, and to grow.