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    Religiousness: Implicatio

Gardener of Souls

By Ron Kett

Life provided us with the soil in which weeds grow, thistles too often responding to conditions but not to human endeavour. Events had ploughed it long and deep, when Phiroz entered our lives.

He sowed seeds from a more beautiful garden and nurtured them ever dependably with love. The gentle warmth of a new dawn’s sun welcomed us to newfound days. Our tiny plants grew in strength, in soil fed and watered from elsewhere. As the years progressed that strength became established, until in the course of time his own physically waned. At last steadfastly requesting, “Care for each other as I have cared for you”, he prepared for his departure. Finally the day came for him to leave, and go beyond that very garden which had involved so much of his lifetime’s work.

What now of the garden? What of his bequest? Is it the sap within the plant which gives it life, or is it the life within the sap which gives of itself? Do we perhaps try to create truth’s spring? Could we ever, possibly? May we yet then not struggle for, but yield to it in invitation. Just yield and the bud will open. Yield to the summer of ripening which in full fruit awaits us. Yield to this which is living… this very moment.

Please, please may we not drift away for a second into mind’s obscuring mist. May we let vision come, without self’s obtrusiveness, this very moment. Why do we still labour with the rusted trowel of lifeless searching thought, scraping discordantly against buried stones, offering stones up to replace the perfume of flowers abundant? What keeps us from yielding? Perhaps we think that we can yet create that spring, one day.

Deep in the heart of the garden there runs a healing, gentle brook. Let us listen for its sound as it rounds the edges of the sharp stones below, enhancing their beauty as they shine in sun’s clear light. Let us listen so silently within that we discern these living waters now. When we hear, no longer desensitised through ego’s demands, untrammelled, and devoid of words, beauty is here, and we are told that we and brook are one. The waters of life were freely, so freely, given. "Do not grasp", he said, as one does not grasp at the awesome glory of the firmament at night. One just witnesses in the moment, and yields to the God-given.

In the receiving we continue to thank him from the depths of our hearts. Yet, words we know are neither necessary or possible in the beauty of love’s true silence.

In this would be the thanks we would share with him and others yet to come.



Kirsty, 16th October 2020

It is very nice.

Bhante Dhammawansha, 13th November 2002

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