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Tend the garden

With gentle allowing, my life has become simpler.

The rhythms have changed; the liminal space has grown to be my main playground.

Low-tech life, real-time, open awareness, direct experience.

A knowing that is a great unknowing.

The point of practice is growth, until the blossom comes to fruit.

Last year a tree I was not fully aware of having planted suddenly burst into bloom, and I tended the blooms as best I could.

The fruits are still coming, and they will be gloriously gradual, lovely in the leisurely pace that is theirs alone to keep.

I still tend the garden. I will always tend this garden.

This harvest, this freedom, is a gift of proportions I could not have expected and is still an adjustment.

The continued practice is one of growing more humble, more open, surrendering to the beauty unfolding before me and within me.

The continued practice is one of releasing the reins; allowing the appearance to be whatever it must be, as that is the least interesting and least important part of all.

The practice is one of yielding up what was never mine in the first place.

The practice is one of ever and always attuning to that sublime silence behind all sounds.

The practice is one of learning, anew, what it means to live, to breathe, to be.


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