I’m in love with the Temple gardens again. It took me a while to find my way back in this spring. Being so caught up in the procession of retreats and ceremonies here at the Temple, I’ve only recently taken up my morning wanderings again. I set out the back door with as little intention as possible. Following my feet and remembering not to work, I am filled – heart and mind – with the subtle thrill green activity.
This slow garden saunter is the true pleasure of gardening. These gardens of our lives are never finished. Always weeds to pull, plants to rearrange, new spaces to create. Walking at leisure, I allow the ideas of the future to be part of the pleasure of this moment. The only true place of appreciation is in the middle of it all – joining in as part of the endless arising and falling away. In this perpetual becomingness each blossom is separate and complete while only arising in the full support of the earth and the sky and the sun and the stars.
I willingly take my place as the slowest one in the garden. I am the younger brother tagging along with his beautiful older sister. Hopelessly in love, I am happy just to be in her presence though I only dimly understand the necessities of her world. But the garden is patient with me – not demanding any more than I give – but meeting me joyously wherever I show up. The bricks on the path rise precisely to meet my foot with each step. The shape and hue of each thing gives itself with abandon to the heart of my senses – with no effort – as if it were not a miracle – as if it were just a wooden bench in the morning sun. Such a clever disguise for God. Who would have thought that she was here all along?
