ARE YOU GROWING. . .
ARE YOU PLANTING. . .
or maybe the better questions are these:
The Gardener
by Mary Oliver
Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusion?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?
I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.
Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man, is tending his children, the roses.
This always brings me back to my rocky bareness
as my pen spits out some of its
i n k i e s t
words:
Toiled
Tilled
Watered
Nurtured
Sunned
Blessed
with no sprouting
no harvest
and then
a mere scattering of seeds
and barren it was
no more
The Truth. . .
not all Sunshine
comes from the sky. . .
not all plants,
from the ground
and that
will get you a pair of
dirty
p r a y i n g
gardener’s hands
every time
. . .close your eyes
bow your head
pray the
wordless prayer
every Heart shouts
and no mouth
w h i s p e r s
. . .sow that
(and seeds will no longer be necessary)
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