My fingers knead clumps of warm dirt, the loamy fragrance of the earth, the worms, and the flowers and vegetables plants already rooted rising up to greet my appreciative nostrils. The attachment of my hands to the soil grounds me pretty well. During a lifetime of lusting for nature, I discovered that gardening tops the list – or nearly so depending on the situation – of tools, strategies, and practices to stay focused on the present moment, where I greatly love to live.

While the earth does its best to keep me focused on planting another bunch of seedlings, so small and tender yet surprisingly strong, too, my mind wanders despite my commitment to keep it connected to my physical body and the task before me. Ignoring me, it takes flight, as a mind will do, and drifts to the image of a dear friend of 30 years, lying in a hospice facility only a few miles from my home. Hot tears immediately and profusely drip onto my shirt and the sweet seedlings, and I think, “Salt water isn’t good for them.” Interesting where the mind goes and what it thinks.

By focusing on my breath, I turned my attention back to the garden and quickly completed the remaining work. I realized that I now wished to turn my full awareness to visiting Kris. Garden tools returned to their shelves in the garage, I jumped into the shower, into my clothes, and then into my car for the short drive to the care facility. I try to visit her every other day and to share stories and long gazes into her eyes if she is awake. The only way communication happens with her now is through her eyes: rapid eye blinks for yes and tightly shut eyes for no. Though diagnosed with Parkinson’s seven years ago, medical professionals say that people don’t die from it – they pass with it. Her voice’s volume barely had registered above a whisper for the last year or so; the seizures she recently experienced stilled it entirely.

Her senses remain sharp, particularly those of sight and hearing. When I read her the Biblical story of Naomi and Ruth much beloved by her – Kris made it part of her life’s work to stand up for women and their rights - she grasped every word. When I told her that our friendship reminded me of Ruth and Naomi, her sharp ears picked up every word. Her eyes leaked tears, and I wiped them from her beautiful thin face, smooth as a baby’s now. Ever the psychologist that was her life’s work “before”, she processes emotions unabashedly, letting them be absorbed by her body as feelings with her full attention on them so they release. During our visits, I remind her of our rich shared memories: miles and miles and miles of walks and intimate talks; the joys and challenges of raising two rambunctious and kind sons who became close friends in childhood and who had to navigate the pressure and sometimes toxicity of the culture; how blessed we feel at having daughters, too; the joys and drags of long marriages; the loss of our parents, and robust discussions of spirituality and psychology.

In her cheerful, quiet room, I sit as close to Kris’ hospital bed as possible, my hand on her bony shoulder, and turn my full attention to her. Even as she sleeps, I resist the phone, really a microcomputer now that my work email and work telephone app link to it. I ignore them and the incessant and insistent calendar feature on it that continually seeks to add more meetings, more events, more social engagements. To be fully conscious and attentive to her in those series of present moments soothes us both. This experience makes me ever-more aware of the difference between a well-lived life and one that is overpacked, over committed, and over wrought.

Leaving her one afternoon, I stepped to the foot of her bed to give her sister, whom I have had the privilege of knowing for years, an embrace. Turning back to face Kris, whose eyes were fixed on me, I spontaneously raised my right fingers to my lips, opened my palm, and blew her a kiss. To our great surprise given that she had not been able to move at all for a few days, she slowly withdrew her long, thin, and now-bony fingers to her own lips in a slow-motion and ethereal movement reminiscent of ET. By return breath, she sent her kiss airborne to me.

How great the gift of friendship is. How sweet the human connection can be if only we allow it. How precious it is to be in the present moment.

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Marcia Appel

In 2006, Marcia, a former journalist and corporate executive, wrote the plan that launched Green Lotus. In 2007, Green Lotus opened, and Marcia and business partner Merry Beth Hovey, who joined in 2009, planted the seeds of service that are the foundation of the Green Lotus philosophy. "As teachers and healers," Marcia says, "we meet students and clients where they are. We learn and grow from each other -- and have fun doing it."