Garden

Following the advice of the old Muslim man in Voltaire’s Candide, I cultivate my own garden and don’t spend my time or energy looking into somebody else’s. Sitting still, pining, wanting to want something, anything at all, imagining, being bored, and then inevitably thinking about how somebody else is living or how my life does or doesn’t conform to the interests of strangers I’ll never meet. 

Drill the hole in the soil, plant the seedlings, water.  Repeat everyday but as with nurturing a real garden, the main ingredient is waiting. Being still. 

To keep on going everyday, tending to the activities of my life, but letting the mind be still and joyful, knowing that whatever that will come will come regardless of how I feel. 

The garden asks for whole-hearted work but also singular attention to the plot that I am given and admiration for what grows.