In the Garden

I shall go to the garden and meditate.
I shall go into the garden, and sit beneath
the short maples and tall cedars,
koi at my feet, and rain kissing my brow.
I shall not notice the rain
as I meditate, its kiss or its promise.
I shall let the rain come, let it snow,
let it snow, let it come unto me that
the garden is never empty of rain.



I shall sit in the garden and clear my mind.
I shall go into the garden and empty self to
become true self, emptied, whole, full of
the clear white light.



I shall go into the garden, and return.
I shall come out again from the garden,
kissed by wolf and eagle, alive to the dew.



I shall return from the garden not alone
but surrounded by invisible garlands of snowflowers.
I shall stand beneath the palms in the garden
and dwell amongst their shadows as though made lion.



I shall make a flute of my bones, and play.
I shall return to the garden as though never leaving,
never remaining, in constant motion yet
eternally still.



And there shall I rest, in time, in slow time,
eternal rest shall be mine, in time, eternal,
to rest inside time and out, never ending,
and rest in the hand and heart of each darker pool.



(images from the Japanese Garden and Glass Palace, Como Park Conservatory,
St. Paul, MN, September 2010)