I have to remind myself that sometimes a change I don’t want to see will provide me another perspective on hope and in that, beauty. After all, they grow in the same garden.
Our bodies are our gardens,
to the which our wills are gardeners.
(Othello, Act I, scene 3)
Questions are what nurture my garden, ever with an eye to my strong will. It is always best for me to step back and ask, “What else might this mean?” If I do, I stay on my garden path rather than rushing into a field of ideas newly sprouted.
Equanimity is the tending of an idea to its full expression as a question. Sometimes, I just cannot wait. I am certain I know the question before it is asked. I spoil the bloom, beauty remains a bud and withers.
That there will be another time is the promise of impermanence. Questions are eternal; answers, ephemeral.
My garden flourishes when I experience each bloom in its own time. We “ache to be worthy” of beauty Mary Oliver says. Indeed, I do.