Jed Wolf

I’d been struggling on and off with an invasive weed in our front beds called Torpedo grass, so I Googled for a solution on the internet. Amid the extreme suggestions and harsh chemicals, I had to do something, but what?

Attending to anything especially these days, has always been a bit like reading tea leaves for me. Box store shelves are full of holes. Finding what I expect or need out there is hit or miss. Advice from friends has a similar randomness, but after reading Emanuel Swedenborg’s “Heaven and Hell,” convinced me I was going to Hell and Buddha’s “Dhammapada” made me aware of how much of my life I’ve wasted, I knew it wasn’t just Covid. Something was seriously up with my reasoning. After praying outwardly and inwardly for help, the embarrassment of options convinced me I was an ant.

I saw myself carrying problems like tea leaves in my jaws into a nest like a leaf cutter ant only to drop them in front of a fat grub with a ceaseless appetite for spewing answers out of its ass so I can go back out and cut up more questions to feed my addiction while never learning anything except how Facebook’s algorithms feed on anxiety in a similar way. 

Trauma, PTSD and nebulous unease fuel our economy. Amassing landscape plants steals focus from my introspection as do trips to Lowes for castle maintenance and remedies for torpedo grass. Russian literature has so little to do with my life in Florida, I’d rather plan a thirty-five-foot backyard tower overlooking the sea.

Shame demands I forgive ignorance and cruelty with empathy, take in less bad news and listen to insightful eBooks. I subscribe to podcasts and visit my lonely inner child who stands there crying in a howling wind, but all he wants is for me embrace him or he’ll kill my mother. 

Last night I dreamt I went deep into myself – as far as possible without a ticket back. I passed right by my grub and screaming inner child then Swedenborg’s angels, Buddha’s head and an ecstatic William Shatner. Further than ever, I voyaged deep into my internal infinity not knowing what to expect.

As sounds of shame and insecurity dissipated in the increasing silence, I found nothing there. No wise old sage awaited me with a free offer. No darkness and no light. No one owned it. It was absolute emptiness with nothing to hang on to. 

Not knowing what else to do, it occurred to me to plant a garden, where if Torpedo Grass began to take hold, I wouldn’t need harsh chemicals and could grow whatever I wanted in my heart.