Farm Flows

This morning, before our meditation, we each take turns to choose from a bowl containing thirty small prayer cards, each describing a virtue.  Despite the randomness, four people get the word harmony.

As we meditate in silence, allowing the meaning of the words to bubble up through the boards of the dock, the sun rises higher over the volcano and bleeds red through our eyelids.  Even at 7am it is warm enough to simmer the skin.  The birds, as every morning, fill the periphery of our awareness.  Under the aural hallucination of deep meditation, the sounds morph into strange parodies of electrical ringtones, wooden flutes and the repetitive squeaking of a child’s swing.

As every resident will tell you, the farm is in a continuous state of flux.  The departure of Amanda in mid-May left the farm gently craving her presence, but Randi’s arrival shortly after was welcomed in the fluid way that we have come to know.  This week also sees the departure of our much-loved Jacky, who has served the farm selflessly and with a great deal of love, implementing much-needed systems in both kitchen and finances and touching everyone with his warmth.

With new people and new energy constantly flowing through the space, we find ourselves perpetually learning and exchanging, but one thing is constant: each person who passes through the farm lets go of stale layers of themselves, leaving the farm renewed and inspired, their soul nourished.

June’s rainy season, rather than bringing dreary grey, simply casts dramatic contrast over our days.  Every morning the sky chooses a different shade and the sun beams straight over Santiago.  Every afternoon the clouds roll over, providing relief for the baby plants and a homey embrace to the farm.  Within the rhythms there is room for the unexpected; violent orange streaks that paint the farm in technicolour; a spray of stars after an afternoon of storms. Sometimes we look out at the lake and realise the ridge has been enveloped in fog, and all of a sudden we are on a tiny island in the middle of a lonely sea.

The macrocosm continually reflects the microcosm.  The rain washes away the dust of the dry season, making way for new shoots, carpeting in greens of every shade. Growth and birth is everywhere.  Two weeks ago we went into the greenhouse to find that a stray dog had given birth to four puppies under the seedlings. In reflection of our yoga- and satsang-circles, we shape circular plots across the farm, angled to catch the rain, and plant seeds next to each other to balance their nutritional needs.  And so the harmony spreads across the land.