After the Rain

1. The rain finally came—soft and gentle like the touch of a mother on her son’s cheek. In its slowness, it sank fully into the ground right where it fell. This morning, the earth is wet and the cool moisture hangs in the air.  It won’t be enough, but it’s a start. How most of the plants survive these cycles of abundance and scarcity is a mystery to me. Of course some of the showy annuals survive the lack of rain by exerting some invisible influence on the guy with the watering can. They cause him to come every day. And this is after they have previously seduced him into an almost obsessional care when they were much younger. Now having claimed the most favorable garden locations for sun and protection, they bask in their two legged anti-drought strategy.
2. I am the mother and father of the garden. I have the great joy of tending and befriending the many beings existing in this space. My life is nurtured by the meanings that taking care bestows upon me. My purpose is to be the one who watches closely the miracle of life emerging right where I am. I delight in the ordinary accomplishments of these green beings that have been given to my care. I set the rules and organize the spaces of this patch of earth. I can do whatever I want—as long as I move along with the patterns of necessity that order us all.
3. I am the child of the garden. The garden is tending and befriending me. I wander the garden paths and I am taught without my knowing. I don’t even know what I’m learning. I am mostly unconscious—moving from this to that in a haphazard way. Playing with this toy and then that one, my internal purposes are unknown to me. I can’t speak the language I hear around me, but very slowly I’m beginning to understand some of the meanings that hold me and regulate me so tenderly.
4. I am just one of the things that grows in the garden. Intentions weave together in fine complexity beyond imagination. We’re all fully invested through the mutuality of our intertwinkling. Me and the garden. The flowers and the trees. The foxes and the chipmunks. The nematodes and the earthworms. The birds that sing and even the cars that race by on the road out front. All of us playing endlessly together. Each one of us a minor player standing exactly at the center of their own universe.
5. The laws of love are completely manifest here in this ongoing dance of mutuality and singularity.
6. I’ll still water the plants on the porch before I drive to Waltham later this morning.

Personal Practice – Take some time to consider the vast web of being that supports and nourishes you at every moment. Look around you. Perhaps begin with the walls of the house that protects you from the rain and harsh sun. Who built these walls? Who made the lunch they ate while they were working? Who tended and harvested the trees? Who planted the seeds for the trees? Who made the rain fall and the sun shine on those trees?

Consider your good fortune at your intimate place right in the middle of everything. Say a quick prayer, or sing a small song, or do a silly dance to express your gratitude and appreciation for all that sustains you.