Spring has arrived in Topanga, and with it, the retreat center is coming alive. The dry, golden hills have softened with fresh rain, and tiny blades of grass have begun pushing through the soil in places we never expected. The cherry trees are bursting into bloom, their soft pink and white petals a quiet reminder of nature’s rhythm—patient, effortless, and yet completely transformative.
Riding the wave of renewal, Katy and I decided to plant a garden. The empty garden boxes that had been sitting idle now hold neat rows of vegetables and herbs, a mix of intention and anticipation.
Preparing the Soil
Before we planted, we had to till the soil. As we worked, Katy asked why we needed to disturb the earth in the first place—why not just plant the seeds directly? I shared an analogy that came to mind: the soil needs to be loosened, just like qi needs to move in the body. If the soil is left untouched, it becomes compacted and stagnant. Just as stagnant qi leads to blockages in the body, compacted soil suffocates growth. By churning it, we invite air, space, and new life into the earth, making it loose, fertile, and ready to nourish the seeds.
As we turned the soil, we uncovered earthworms wriggling beneath the surface—a sign, we were told, of rich, healthy soil. It felt like a small confirmation that the foundation was strong, that something good was already in motion before we had even begun planting.
The Garden
We planted our seeds in four beds:
Bed 1: Carrots and white onions
Bed 2: Beets and yellow squash
Bed 3: Kale and chard
Bed 4: Chamomile, calendula, and borage
Each seed is now nestled in the earth, holding the potential to sprout, grow, and eventually nourish us.
Planting with Intention: Mantras for Growth and Nourishment
As we planted each seed, we infused the process with intention, speaking and even singing mantras to them as they nestled into the soil. We believe that sound carries energy, and by offering these vibrations of harmony and growth, we were not only supporting the plants’ journey but also deepening our own connection to them. The idea is that when these herbs and vegetables eventually grow and nourish us, they will carry the resonance of those mantras—the energy of care, mindfulness, and reciprocity—creating a cycle of nourishment that extends beyond just the physical.
The Spiritual Path as a Garden
As we planted, I couldn’t help but see the parallels between tending a garden and walking a spiritual path. There’s a line in the Tao Te Ching that says: Nature never hurries, yet everything is accomplished. Seeds don’t sprout overnight, and neither do the fruits of meditation, qi gong, or yoga. Every time we sit in practice—whether it’s following the breath, moving energy, or stretching into stillness—we are planting a seed. The results might not be immediate, but with consistency, something within us begins to shift.
My spiritual teacher, Mark, once told me that awakening is a delicate process. It doesn’t happen all at once, and it requires balance—just like a garden. Too much water drowns the seed. Too much sun scorches it. But with just the right mix of earth, air, light, and care, growth happens naturally. Meditation, in this sense, is the daily choice to water the plant—to show up, to nurture, to trust the process.
Growing Something Greater
We’re looking forward to seeing what comes of this little garden—how it grows, how it changes, how it teaches us along the way. When the vegetables and herbs finally bear fruit, we’ll be able to enjoy meals made from ingredients grown just steps away from our home, minimizing our environmental impact and deepening our connection to the land. Katy hopes to use the herbs as part of her healing treatment in her massage therapy practice.
But in the meantime, we wait. We tend. We trust that beneath the surface, something is already unfolding—just as it is within us.