Zen Mowing

I love those lines. Those long, almost silver, lines, snuggling up to the green. There is something about the way the sun hits the colors, reflecting the almost otherworldly splendor to the eye. Looking at this simple work of art, I feel a comfort, a peace, a sense of “completeness”. Creating this art unlocks the Zen in my mind, allowing the peace of the universe to flow into my soul. When I am in creator mode, my soul has a purpose; a simple idea that takes skill, concentration, patience, and sunscreen.

I love my lawn. It covers approximately two acres of hilly land, is scattered with trees and flowers and even a grape vine or three. It is not a perfect lawn, such as you may see on TV, or in a lawncare advert, but it is green and (relatively) healthy. When it starts to get tall, I begin the process to create my art.

It really is a process. First step, grab my ‘boonie’ hat, to keep the sun off my face and neck: skin cancer is REAL, people! Next step, sunglasses. I wear safety sunglasses because they’re cheap, and a random pinecone slamming into an unprotected eye has a tendency to disrupt the Zen. Once I have my glasses and hat, next come the earbuds. Man cannot create without a muse; or at least a good book or music to listen to.

After I open the shop where I keep my mower, I grab the sunscreen and spray any skin that may be visible to the sun. Skin cancer is REAL, people! From there, I begin my walk around of the mower. Fresh, non-ethanol gas? Check. Oil level? Check. Clean air filter? Check. Belt condition? Check.

These steps all focus my mind into creator. Before I climb onto the mower, my mind is free from distraction, barreling down the path to peace. As I start the mower, I listen for unfamiliar sounds that may be signs of mechanical trouble. Hearing none, the earbuds go in, an audiobook is started, and my mind’s eye ascends to show me the way.

I drive the mower up the driveway to the front corner of the yard. From there I survey the green expanse before me. What design do I see, superimposed over the shaggy Bermuda grass that is my lawn? That front corner is where the piece begins to take shape. One pass down the fence-line to establish a base. One circuit around the yard to set the boundaries. From the beginning of the second lap, the creativity really begins to flow.

As I drive, I keep the wheels carefully set in the path I see. The words of Mark Twain or Stephen King or Christopher Moore speak through my earbuds. I try to harness the creativity in their words and shape it into the tools I need to complete my own work of art. What I am listening to influences the shapes I see when I look over the green expanse. Twain speaks to long, graceful lines that follow slow curves. King lends itself to back-and-forth, brutally efficient lines. Moore… Moore leads to curves and swirls and abstraction.

This week, the words of Tom Sawyer whitewash my mind. I decide to cut the yard in half diagonally. One half gets a diamond pattern, the other will have to wait until I get there. I see a grass blade bend with a breeze and suddenly I know there is a diamond that needs my careful attention to cut and polish. With the right touch, it may become a flawless, brilliant-cut stunner, worthy of the hand of Becky Thatcher.

As the blades engage and the vibrations intensify, all sense of the world washes away. There are no bills to pay, no repairs to do, and no crippling self-doubt to interfere with daily life. There is only me, the machine, and that diamond that needs to be cut and polished. No. The diamond that I WILL cut and polish, because I can see the brilliance waiting right beneath the surface.

The first pass completes the outline. From there, I stop to see if the diamond has changed, into a square or circle or random trapezoid. It has not, and now I see the best line to follow to get the most brilliance with the minimum flaws. Once the pattern is set, instinct and feeling take over. My hands manipulate the levers with minimal input while my foot raises and lowers the deck, almost of its own volition. My muscles know this dance; they have taken part countless times over the years, on many mowers, in many strange lands.

During this fugue state, I still make decisions, respond to stimuli, grimace when the blades contact a rock or stick. What I do not do is think too much. This activity is important not only because it keeps my property from looking abandoned, but also keeps my mind from FEELING abandoned. All the stimulus my brain receives every day, every week, every hour, builds into this seething mass I sometimes shove into a corner and throw a blanket over. Don’t want the neighbors seeing THAT, thank you.

When that mower engine coughs into life, that blanket is thrown off. That seething mass begins to separate. Things that were so tangled they became unrecognizable begin to unravel. The extraneous crap that has no business in my mind slinks away, ready to change clothes and knock on my door another day, but gone for now.

The process is never complete, though. No matter the pattern I see, the author I am listening to, or a complete lack of rocks and sticks in my yard, there is still a pile of junk in the corner of my mind. Some of those broken toys and tools can be fixed, and some need careful examination before they are discarded, but they all will have to be dealt with. That pile is definitely smaller, though, and nowhere near as many items have teeth.

By the time the pile is smaller I see the diamond, cut and polished. Without my even realizing it, my body has performed the steps to create this art. I know my mind had a part in it, but I was too busy wrestling that seething mass to notice. Or maybe I was too busy cutting and polishing to notice the combat cleaning going on in my head. One way or the other, my lawn is a beautiful diamond, my mind is much cleaner and more organized, and the blanket is folded and ready.

Maybe I should call an exterminator to deal with those teeth, though…