by Pamela Carson

It had been a beautiful summer of cool, sunny weather good for gardening pleasure and produce. Except for one pesky problem, my veggie flower haven had been quite satisfying. I watched as promising green bean plants turned into lacy skeletons. The flowers continued to give way to tiny beans which pushed valiantly outward but withered sadly or were attacked by the horde of gleaming Japanese beetles. Beetles! Grrr! I had never known such contempt for a creature. Finally, sadly, I gave up trying to save the beans. Their beetle-food fate was sealed for the season.

I turned my attention with renewed happiness to beautifying a bare corner of the yard with hardy daisy-style chrysanthemums. After all, food for the eyes was just as important as food for the body. All was well.

Then, a peaceful evening was shattered as I noticed two shiny spotted bodies invading the innocent mum plants. Alarms went off in my head. I was not going to give in this time, NO WAY! In a botanical rage, I smashed those slippery iridescent small things. I wanted their relatives to be horrified and repelled, and leave me with healthy attractive flower plants. I went to bed feeling vindicated. Nature, however, decided not to cooperate with my war plan. The plants were crawling with beetles by morning.

At this point, I remembered my gentler, truer nature. I opened my heart and sent an honest message to the Deva of the Japanese Beetles with a concurrent communication to the Deva of the Chrysanthemums. I murmured in soft tones morning and evening, acknowledged my error, recognized the equality of humans, plants and insects. I offered one mum plant to the beetles and assured the plant that one day my body would also replenish nutrients in the earth. Vibrations of love filled my core. I felt connected with all life and life processes. I felt humbled and calm; the fire of the battle had given way to peaceful acceptance. I had no expectations. I was in tune with all and that was enough.

About two weeks later, I noticed that the chrysanthemums were blooming. They were full with white daisy flowers. Even the beetle-gift plant was producing blossoms. My earlier calm acceptance broke into rushes of ecstasy and joy. This deva stuff really worked!

The pretty flowers lasted about two weeks. Then, all three plants began to wither. Watering, talking or tending of any sort did not reverse their swift death. My sense of connectedness remained, however, and I realized in a wash of understanding that the soil in which the mums had been planted was totally inappropriate. It was an old cinder bed. This realization illuminated the wonder of the whole episode for me. I had been given a glorious gift of the awareness of my existence in Life itself with my fellow travellers: the Japanese Beetles, and the Daisy Chrysanthemums.