In the Garden
In the Temple Garden, nature invites me to leave behind the bustling world and immerse myself in the simplicity of just being. A walk in the garden is where my senses come alive, and the essence of life unfolds before me.
As I meander along the brick walkway, each step brings a new scene into view. The vibrant green of the moss-covered stones, the delicate petals of blossoms, and the serene reflection of the sky in the rippling pond—each sight is a masterpiece of wabi-sabi, the beauty of imperfection and transience.
In its natural state, the garden teaches me the art of experiencing without labeling.
The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant call of a jay, and the harmonious gurgle of water flowing over rocks create a symphony that invites deep listening. Each sound, in its unique way, guides me to the present moment. When I let go of the need to categorize or interpret these sounds, I begin to experience them in their purest form.
The air is rich with the fragrance of earth and blossoms, a sensory feast that anchors me to the here and now. The scent of pine mingles with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers, creating an olfactory tapestry that is grounding and uplifting.
Smelling without naming allows me to connect more intimately with my surroundings. It’s an invitation to breathe deeply and let the natural world fill me with its quiet wisdom.
As I run my fingers over the rough bark of the giant katsura tree or feel the coolness of a smooth stone, I experience the tactile connection we share with the earth. Each texture tells a story of time and transformation. A touch is a reminder of my interconnectedness with all things.
My journey through the garden concludes with a simple cup of tea, where the taste of it brings a moment of pure presence. The bitterness of the tea balances its subtle sweetness, a reminder of the harmony in embracing life’s contrasts. Tasting without judgment allows me to savor the full spectrum of flavors, deepening my appreciation for the moment.
Walking through the Temple Garden reminds me that to know a thing deeply, I must forget its name. Names and labels can create boundaries that separate me from direct experience.
This practice of forgetting is not about ignorance but transcending superficial understanding and entering a deeper, more intuitive connection with life.
In my Zen practice, I realize that the garden is not just a collection of plants, stones, and water. It is a living, breathing entity that speaks to me in a language beyond words.
By forgetting the names and simply being present, I enter into a state of pure awareness, where the beauty and wisdom of nature reveal themselves in their entire form.
- Sokei
