Compost is decay. It is the process through which organic matter breaks down, returning to the earth to enrich the soil. This cycle of life and death is fundamental to the natural world, demonstrating the interconnectedness of all living things. What once was vibrant and alive decomposes into a rich, fertile substance, ready to nourish new growth. In this way, compost is a profound symbol of transmutation, the alchemical process of turning waste into wealth, death into life.
In the garden, compost is magic. It transforms kitchen scraps, fallen leaves, and garden clippings into a dark, earthy material that is teeming with life. Microorganisms, fungi, and insects work tirelessly to break down the organic matter, releasing essential nutrients back into the soil. This miraculous process happens quietly, often hidden from view, yet its impact is undeniable. Plants thrive in the enriched soil, growing stronger and more resilient. Compost, with its life-giving properties, becomes the invisible force driving the garden's vitality.
Metaphorically, compost represents change and renewal. It teaches us that nothing is ever truly wasted and that even the most discarded remnants hold the potential for rebirth. In our lives, we experience moments of decay and loss, times when it feels like everything is falling apart. But just as compost transforms decay into fertile ground, these challenging moments can be the foundation for new growth and possibilities. By embracing the process of transformation, we can find beauty and strength in the cycles of change.
Compost also embodies the principle of sustainability. It reminds us to value the resources we have and to see potential where others might see waste. By composting, we participate in a natural cycle that reduces waste and enriches the earth, fostering a deeper connection to the environment. This act of recycling organic matter not only benefits our gardens but also cultivates a mindset of conservation and respect for the planet. In this way, compost serves as a powerful metaphor for how we can live more sustainably and harmoniously with nature.
Metaphorical Composting
The metaphor of the ladder, symbolizing spiritual progress, has deep historical roots. From Hebrews to Greeks to Christians, ascending to higher realms has been esteemed, reflecting Western moral ideals where the best resides high and the worst, low. However, in recent times, our relentless pursuit of growth has become unsustainable. Darwin's theory of evolution, "The Descent of Man," has been inverted in our societal mindset to portray human progress as an upward climb.
Immigrants strive for higher social status, buildings soar with elevators to costlier floors, and industrial extraction of minerals like coal, iron, and oil increases their value as they ascend from beneath the earth. This upward growth narrative has become commonplace, equating adulthood with maturity in heroic terms.
Yet, amidst this emphasis on ascent, have we overlooked something critical? Birth. Typically entering the world headfirst, like divers plunging into humanity's pool, we begin with a vulnerability symbolized by the soft spot atop our heads, a conduit for our origins' influence. As this spot gradually closes, our skull hardens, symbolizing our separation from the unseen and our definitive arrival here. But descent, too, is crucial. Like tomato plants and towering trees, our lives involve both reaching upward toward light and anchoring downward with roots, a biographical tale often overlooked in our upward-focused metaphors.
The metaphor of the Tower in the Tarot serves as a poignant reminder. Often depicted collapsing, it symbolizes the inevitable collapse of unsustainable growth and false security built upon shaky foundations. It urges us to start from a reasonable place, to rebuild with a stronger foundation, acknowledging that true growth involves both ascent and descent, balance and rootedness. Just as the Tower falls to be rebuilt anew, so too must we reconsider our metaphors of progress and maturity, embracing the wisdom of organic motion that includes both reaching upward and rooting downward in the fertile soil of our origins.
The metaphor of the ladder, symbolizing spiritual progress, has deep historical roots. From Hebrews to Greeks to Christians, ascending to higher realms has been esteemed, reflecting Western moral ideals where the best resides high and the worst, low. However, in recent times, our relentless pursuit of growth has become unsustainable. Darwin's theory of evolution, "The Descent of Man," has been inverted in our societal mindset to portray human progress as an upward climb. Immigrants strive for higher social status, buildings soar with elevators to costlier floors, and industrial extraction of minerals like coal, iron, and oil increases their value as they ascend from beneath the earth. This upward growth narrative has become commonplace, equating adulthood with maturity in heroic terms.
Yet, amidst this emphasis on ascent, have we overlooked something critical? Birth. Typically entering the world headfirst, like divers plunging into humanity's pool, we begin with a vulnerability symbolized by the soft spot atop our heads, a conduit for our origins' influence. As this spot gradually closes, our skull hardens, symbolizing our separation from the unseen and our definitive arrival here. But descent, too, is crucial. Like tomato plants and towering trees, our lives involve both reaching upward toward light and anchoring downward with roots, a biographical tale often overlooked in our upward-focused metaphors.
Indeed, isn't there more to our journey than mere ascent?
This Compost
by Walt Whitman
1
Something startles me where I thought I was safest,
I withdraw from the still woods I loved,
I will not go now on the pastures to walk,
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea,
I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me.
O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken?
How can you be alive you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain?
Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead?
Where have you disposed of their carcasses?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations?
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd,
I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath,
I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.
2
Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person—yet behold!
The grass of spring covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in the dooryards,
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour dead.
What chemistry!
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever,
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good,
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard and the orange-orchard, that melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will
none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease,
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once a catching disease.
Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,
It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseas'd corpses,
It distills such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor,
It renews with such unwitting looks its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops,
It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from them at last.
shape the future trajectory of the United States and effect the world for years to come.
I am fascinated with my compost pile. It took a while for me to become enamored of a pile of rotting kitchen scraps and decaying leaves. But the first time I pulled fresh earthy smelling soil out of the compost box, I was in love. Let me count the ways.
Trench Composting is an easy way to compost if you want to do it but don’t have the time or resources. All you need is a yard where you can dig a hole. Here is how to do it:
Trench composting is a simple and effective way to recycle organic matter, improve soil health, and reduce waste. You won’t want to plant over the trench compost are until it has finished decomposing. On average, trench composting can take anywhere from 3 to 6 months for the materials to fully decompose and integrate into the soil. In optimal conditions, some materials may break down in as little as 1 to 2 months, while tougher materials, like woody stems, may take longer than 6 months. Regularly turning or disturbing the soil can also help speed up the decomposition process. If you need to plant immediately, choose plants with shallow root systems, as deeper roots may be affected by the decomposing material below. If you're trench composting in a vegetable garden, consider rotating your planting areas. Use one section for composting while planting in another, then switch in the next season.
Trench Composting is an easy way to compost if you want to do it but don’t have the time or resources. All you need is a yard where you can dig a hole. Here is how to do it:
Trench composting is a simple and effective way to recycle organic matter, improve soil health, and reduce waste. You won’t want to plant over the trench compost are until it has finished decomposing. On average, trench composting can take anywhere from 3 to 6 months for the materials to fully decompose and integrate into the soil. In optimal conditions, some materials may break down in as little as 1 to 2 months, while tougher materials, like woody stems, may take longer than 6 months. Regularly turning or disturbing the soil can also help speed up the decomposition process. If you need to plant immediately, choose plants with shallow root systems, as deeper roots may be affected by the decomposing material below. If you're trench composting in a vegetable garden, consider rotating your planting areas. Use one section for composting while planting in another, then switch in the next season.
The Reverend Dr. Kathleen Rose holds a Doctorate in Clinical Pastoral Psychotherapy and a Master of Divinity. Her areas of focus are thanatology and Process Philosophy. Kathleen is an ordained interfaith minister. She currently works as a board certified healthcare chaplain, and as an Eco Chaplain. Kathleen is also student of Japanese Tea Ceremony through the international Chado Urasenke Tankokai associations of the Urasenke School in Kyoto, Japan. Kathleen Reeves is a published poet, and writer. She is a philosopher and a ponderer