Learning To Be Still

Gardening has taken up my life.  My small stretch of greenery is the patio outside my bedroom on the second floor of a quaint apartment building.  I have tomatoes, herbs, succulents, flowers, orchids.  I have recently discovered that I planted a flower that blooms during the day and closes at night.  This flower catches you at your lowest point and whispers, Sit awhile, calm your mind, delight in the miracle of the seed that you planted a year ago. This flower will not allow you to brood or be restless.  This flower mends your heart and wants you to truly live.  I once wrote these words in my notebook: I want to leave the dark, I want to see what you find beautiful. Whatever took me into the spectacle of light has led me to what is indeed beautiful.   

I sit on a bamboo bench on the patio.  Shafts of light fall on one corner, then on to the next, as the day progresses from morning to afternoon, and then the magic continues in the evening under a brilliant sky when the moonbeams fall on the rooftops.  Here, not only have I planted seeds, but I also sat in quiet waiting for them to grow, waiting patiently and then impatiently.  On this patio I learn a thing or two about stillness and hope and nature’s stubborn desire to live.  I learn about mindfulness and patience and not giving up.