Radicle

---

Among the inordinate number of miracles and magic that arise from our natural world every day is the unbelievable potential that is buried within a seed.  A seed, not knowing its destiny, contains the roots of the plant that it has the potential to become.  Those roots are within it from the moment that seed develops in the womb of its mother fruit.  Not all seeds are nurtured in a way that their potential is unlocked.  It requires the right environment.  The right conditions.  The right care for the seed to swell and rupture.  And when it does, the first form of life that emerges is known as the radicle root. 

Most of us think of radical as a form of revolution.  Of being progressive and unconventional.  But radical also means fundamental.  At the core of things.  Essential.  Even constitutional.  The radicle root of a seed is what keeps it grounded.  What supports it. and gives it life.  And it grows from there.  That means tending to the seed of our potential, providing it the right conditions to erupt, not only is an act of open-minded transformation but also a way of cultivating our engrained vitality.  Nurturing something that needs to come to life in order to give life.

That is exactly what it feels like to nurture the artist, the creator and writer within me.  Unlocking the potential that has always been dormant in me and creating the conditions for my seed to expand and crack wide open so that I could plant this radicle root and tend to it in the days, weeks and months ahead.  I can say this because over the years of leading community planning initiatives, teaching yoga and fitness classes, and guiding permaculture projects there has always been this nagging undercurrent that felt like my work was just a little left of center.  Not deeply emerging from my core.  I was good at these jobs the way anyone gets good at something if they put the time, energy and intellect into them.  But in my soul, there was always something missing.  Something right in front of my face.  Borrowed deep in my roots.  You see, what really drew me to permaculture, pun intended, was the act of sketching the landscape.  Using colored pencils and markers to create shapes and patterns and tones to reflect an image.  An idea.  A dream.  Of course, I was fascinated by the science and philosophy of the practice, but I don’t know if that alone would have hooked me if it weren’t for the invitation to graphically illustrate my vision for the space I was designing.  For my yoga and fitness classes, the real thrill comes in the design of the class.  Choosing the right theme, the right song, the right movement, the right offer to experience something in the body so profound.  So memorable and powerful.  Again, I appreciate the health and wellness benefits to the classes I share but my joy lies in the choreography of those classes.  The creation.  Within the field of planning and facilitation, it’s mapping out the design of a workshop and activities that then creates the intended result, bringing something into the world that didn’t exist beforehand.  That’s what captivates me the most.  So, you see, the artist was always there.  Weaving herself in and out of the disciplines that had become my career and my identity.  But I never simply nurtured the radicle root of the artist, letting her become what she was meant to become.  I kept her busy with little tasks while tending to what I thought I was supposed to be for my family and for my community.

It's a remarkable feeling to choose to free oneself from the confines of capitalist motivation and external expectations.  To instead be guided by something from within.  Something at the core that wants to be brought into the light.  It was the great, late Maya Angelou who once said, “Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” I think it’s a worthy activity to make time to name the people and actions that attempt to dim that light as well as the people and actions that would support us bringing that light into the world.

For the past year, I’ve been mothering and germinating the radicle root of my inner writer.  I’ve made time to write, to listen to the stories from my ancestors, to find the words for every emotion, every reflection, every season, every experience.  I’ve been living through the page.  I have a memoir-in-progress that lives at the intersection of my long-held professions in community planning and ecological design, and my personal life as a fifty-plus year old woman who has chosen to claim space as a writer while navigating menopause, aging parents, community dynamics and expectations, all the while wondering what we can all co-create in the ashes and compost of today’s current degradation and chaos.  I know.  It’s a lot.  And I seem to have more questions than answers but the kind of questions I feel we should all be asking in this moment.  I applied and was accepted into several different writing programs this past year through the Orion Nature and Culture Magazine.  I met and wrote and shared at a workshop with Elizabeth Gilbert as I did eight years ago with Cheryl Strayed, both literary and humanitarian heroes to me.  I’m doing the frickin work, but so far, I’ve only shared pieces of my writing with a few family members and friends.

Now, I’m daring to put it out there.  To take that small seedling that is unfurling, put it in nutrient dense soil and see if it grows.  I’m sending my work to local papers and summitting essays to magazines.  I’m finishing the first rough draft of my memoir in hopes of publishing it in the near future.  I’m going to share my writing.   Wherever people may read.  May listen.  May take the time to reflect on what I’m sharing and then take action in their own lives.  Tending to their own radicle root.   And maybe, just maybe, we can co-create a more beautiful and hopeful garden together.