Day 12: Coming back

I tend to hurl myself toward ends.  In the last two houses I tried to grow gardens.  I would throw my mania into the ground, with little regard. Hastily reaching out to an end-ideal held in the mind.  In love with the idea of the garden, despising the inbetween.  A reflection of the interior hollow. So often in love with ideas of things.  But I have visited those gardens, wild and tall, and have suddenly felt time moved too fast.  A loss at what I missed. The longing for completeness replaced by a longing for the inbetween.

A balance here in the big green house.  Moving beyond longing to simply what is.  Sangha is being in the now.