I have been craving time in the garden, and this weekend has given me that. Hard work, sore hands, tired body, empty mind.
I may be on to something.
Emily. Emily. Emily. I am excavating a palace for you in my heart. Not the one I built you as a little girl. Not the one I built for who I thought you were going to be. But a new one. Right now it looks like a gaping hole, a smoking ruin, but that is only because I had to destroy what was there. It was trying to blind me to who you really are. It was a beautiful dream, but you cannot live in a dream and when you choose between what is real and what is just a dream, you take what’s real.
You take that, and you make a place for it.
My plan is now just to make this space and hold it. If you want to build a new palace there, that’s fine. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. If you don’t move in at all, then it will still be the place in my heart where you are. You will be the emptiness. You will be the ‘not going in’ ness of the room wherein you do not dwell.
The thing you are teaching me, Emily, is that I have a great and wild country inside me, where there is a cold, deep river coursing, and thick grasses and trees lining the banks and all manner of beasts residing. In my heart you show me that there is a stone like a mountain that will not be moved.
I think sometimes I am done learning what you have to teach me, but that is an illusion.
The steady love of the world is revealed by attending to small things.