When people hear that I’m passionate about both Buddhism and gardening, they sometimes seem surprised. But to me, the two go hand in hand. Gardening isn’t just something I do for fresh herbs or pretty flowers—it’s a deeply spiritual practice that keeps me grounded in the present moment. It teaches me patience, acceptance, and appreciation for the small, quiet changes that are always happening—both in my garden and within myself.
In this blog post, I want to share a bit about how gardening has become a form of mindfulness for me, and how anyone—no matter their space or experience—can start cultivating peace through plants.
A Daily Practice in Stillness
I live in Brooklyn, where life is always moving—horns honking, trains rattling, people rushing from one place to the next. It’s easy to get swept up in the busyness. For a long time, I did. But when I began studying Buddhism, I started to crave more stillness and awareness in my day-to-day life.
That’s when I rediscovered gardening. What started as a couple of potted plants on my fire escape slowly grew into a full rooftop garden. Every morning, I make a cup of tea and head outside to check on my plants. I don’t bring my phone. I don’t make a to-do list. I just walk slowly, breathe deeply, and observe.
I listen to the bees humming, feel the sun on my face, and gently brush my fingers along the leaves. It’s a moving meditation. There’s no goal beyond being present.
Learning to Let Go of Control
One of the hardest (and most humbling) lessons gardening has taught me is that I’m not in control. I can water and weed and nurture, but I can’t force a tomato to ripen or a seedling to sprout. I’ve learned to meet each stage of growth with curiosity rather than expectation.
This mirrors a key Buddhist teaching: the importance of letting go of attachment. When I cling too tightly—to outcomes, to perfection, to timelines—I suffer. But when I let go, when I allow things to unfold naturally, I feel peace.
Last summer, I planted a bed of kale that got devoured by caterpillars within days. At first, I was frustrated. But then I noticed how lively the garden felt—full of butterflies, birds, and other creatures. I realized I wasn’t the only one trying to eat from the earth. That moment shifted something in me. I didn’t replant the kale. I let it be a gift to the ecosystem.
Presence Over Perfection
It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking a garden has to look a certain way—perfect rows, no weeds, everything blooming on schedule. But real gardens, like real life, are messy and ever-changing. Some plants thrive. Others struggle. Weather shifts. Surprises happen.
What matters most to me is not how polished my garden looks, but how present I am in it. I try to meet each day’s tasks with full attention. When I water the plants, I really water them—not just going through the motions while my mind races elsewhere. When I pull weeds, I use it as a chance to practice gratitude and care.
I’ve even started turning routine tasks—like repotting or composting—into little rituals. I light incense, take a few deep breaths, and approach the work with reverence. It’s not about making it fancy. It’s about honoring the moment.
Connecting with Something Bigger
There’s something deeply spiritual about getting your hands in the dirt. When I’m in my garden, I feel connected—to the earth, to the seasons, to the mystery of life itself. I’m reminded that I’m part of something much bigger and older than myself.
Buddhism teaches that everything is interconnected. Gardening makes that visible. I see how the bees pollinate the flowers, how compost nourishes the soil, how rain quenches thirsty roots. It’s a web of life, all working together. I’m just one thread in it.
That awareness brings a kind of peace I don’t find in other places. It makes my problems feel a little smaller, and my purpose feel a little clearer.
An Invitation to Begin
If you’ve been feeling stressed, scattered, or disconnected, I invite you to start a garden—even a tiny one. You don’t need a rooftop or backyard. A single pot of herbs on your windowsill can be a sacred space.
Start small. Pick a plant you feel drawn to. Give it your attention, your care, your time. Observe how it grows—and how you grow alongside it. Use the moments with your plant as a chance to slow down, breathe, and just be.
You don’t have to be a Buddhist or even spiritual to benefit. The practice of gardening itself—if done with intention—can open the heart, quiet the mind, and nourish the soul.
For me, gardening isn’t just a hobby. It’s a form of prayer, a mindfulness practice, and a reminder that healing and beauty can come from the dirt. Every seed holds a lesson. Every bloom is a moment of grace.
So wherever you are, whatever your space, may you find a little peace through planting. And may your garden—like your heart—continue to grow.