Healing Ritual in a Community Garden

Healing Ritual in a Community Garden*

This part of the play, Ecology Rituals, needs to happen in a community garden. It doesn’t matter if that garden sits on city land, or land donated by a major corporation, or land that was once an ugly and dangerous empty city lot now converted by local residents into an oasis of green. Any community garden where strangers come together to nurture plants for beauty or for sustenance will do perfectly.

The play will happen best if the garden is in full swing with lots of garden plants and the ubiquitous weeds.

Let the audience range freely around the perimeter of the garden, until that part of the action where they are invited to join in the ceremony. Then some of them will find their way onto the little paths winding between the small plots of land.

Time of day is not so important for this part of the play, though it would be more pleasant if the action happened in the gentle hours of morning or on a cool day that threatens rain, or in the late afternoon when the scorching of summer’s sun has abated somewhat.

There are both men and women in this part of the play, of all ages. And children. And animals if you can get gentle ones, dogs or cats, pet birds, rabbits, snakes, bring them all as long as they don’t threaten the garden. Invite audience members to bring their gentle pets to the performance, too.

The gardeners approach from all directions. There are nine or more of them. They are singing:

Follow me

To a place of hopefulness;

Follow me

To a place of peace

Follow me

To a plot of land

Where all battles cease;

Come and take my hand.

Carry water

To the thirsty garden;

Carry water

To the growing crop;

Carry water

To a bit of heaven

Where all conflicts stop;

Lift the water up.

At the end of the second stanza, all the gardeners stand at the perimeter of the garden. They look over the little sections of tended land as if taking in all that has happened there since the last time they brought water. Then they set down their buckets and watering cans, and turn their backs on the garden as they speak to those who have come to watch and listen. As they speak, they may run, dance, tumble, or twirl through and about those who are there to witness them.

When I step into the garden, I leave behind hatred of all those who do not think as I do.

I leave behind my terror at not knowing how to decide where truth lies.

I forget about fighting when I come here.

I shake off anxiety about what is coming next when I walk these paths.

When I come here, I strip away my need for riches.

As I get close to this place, burdens I’ve taken on drop from my shoulders.

I’m not lonely here.

I’m not angry here.

I never hurry when I’m here.

As one, the gardeners turn toward the garden. As one they step inside its boundary. As one they sigh, “Aaaahhhh!” as their feet touch a garden path.

Each in his or her own way, they tilt their watering cans and buckets and begin to lovingly drench the soil of one little corner of this garden. They move slowly as they pour the water, humming and then letting their voices build into a communal song of joy. When they cross paths with someone else they water each other’s feet or hands or heads and bodies, returning to a watering of the land as they pass by them. There is a water source nearby for them to refill their watering cans and buckets.  The song reaches its richest and strongest point when the garden is thoroughly wet, and they all have gathered in the center of the garden to finish the song.

            This little place is precious,

            Standing here out in the open,

            Reaching up toward the sun

            So bravely, so bravely.

            What grows here is luscious,

            Beans and corn, basil and peppers,

            Lettuce and tomatoes

            Delicious, delicious.

            Bring this land some water,

            Cool and fresh, clean and healing,

            Carried by loving hands

            To nurture this place.

As the song finishes, others have appeared at the edge of the garden with all sorts of pails and urns and bowls and pitchers—all full of water. Or advance ads and the theatre box office could have invited audience members to bring their own little watering cans that they can fill with water at the performance site. For those who have not brought their own containers, facilitators bring these containers to the audience, inviting them to take one and go into the garden to water the place for themselves. As the audience members begin to make their way into the garden and to pour their water onto the plants and flowers, the gardeners standing in the center break into a new song.

            I do not know you,

            We have never met,

            I don’t know your politics,

            Or your religion yet.

            Who are your parents,

            Where do you live,

            What work do you do,

            You know, I don’t give

            A damn! You heard me!

            Why should I care about

            Labels like that;

            I want instead to shout

            You saw the beauty here,

            You brought the water,

            You were drawn here,

            Son or daughter,

            Stepped inside

            And lifted up

            A pitcher of life

            A loving cup

            A hope

            A wish

            A dream . . .

            Of healing.

The gardeners in the center go to the plants and harvest whatever is in season. They give the food they have gathered to members of the audience as they exit the garden and the playing area. They improvise a chant as they leave.

*This is an open-source document. Please feel free to quote, use, perform this as you feel called to do. The lyrics are still in need of music. Source attribution is unimportant. But that includes you, too. . . Give it away. Give it all away.