This spring, I rediscovered Ganesha.

Not spiritually. Physically.

He’s been sitting in my back garden for years, quietly watching over the pond, the fruit trees, and until recently, a flock of chickens and ducks. Unfortunately, after a long winter, a busy business, two teenagers, a retreat centre in France, freelance work, coursework marking, and life generally doing what life does, the garden had become somewhat… enthusiastic.

The brambles were thriving.

The mares tail was thriving.

The foxes were thriving.

The chickens, sadly, were not.

Somewhere beneath the greenery there was a pond. There were fruit trees I planted eighteen months ago. There was the remains of a chicken enclosure that had collapsed under the weight of winter snow. And somewhere amongst it all was Ganesha.

So one afternoon, armed with a vague plan, a sense of optimism and a pair of secateurs, I cut a path through the wilderness and found him again.

It struck me afterwards that this is often how spiritual practice works.

We imagine enlightenment arriving as a lightning bolt. We picture ourselves becoming serene and wise. We think one day we’ll finally have enough time, enough energy, enough discipline, enough money, enough certainty, and then we’ll begin.

But that’s not how life works is it?

Most of us don’t find the Divine in perfectly manicured gardens. We find it in the middle of busy lives. Between school runs, work deadlines, difficult conversations, overflowing laundry baskets and endless to-do lists.

So perhaps spiritual practice isn’t about building something new; perhaps it’s about clearing a path back to something that was already there.

For me, daily devotion has returned in a very simple form. A candle. Incense. A flower. A mantra. A few moments of gratitude before the demands of the day begin.

Not elaborate (I can’t do elaborate before coffee).

Just a small path cut through the brambles.

Ganesha is traditionally known as the remover of obstacles. Yet I’ve often found that he doesn’t always remove them immediately. Sometimes he simply sits patiently behind them, waiting for us to notice that we’ve wandered off course and are ready to find our way back.

The garden isn’t tidy yet.

The pond is still somewhere in there.

The mares tail remains unconvinced that it should leave.

And I still occasionally look at my ever-growing list of projects and wonder what possessed me to take on quite so many things.

But the path exists.

The candle is lit.

The mantra is spoken.

And Ganesha has been found.

For now, that’s enough.

Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.