Tend to your garden,
the gardener told me,
as I watched him gently tilling the soil
of his personal plot.
He
grew plants, and bushes,
and trees, and fruits and vegetables,
and intermixed small rocks and boulders,
until he had created a beautiful space.
It was obvious that he cared deeply
for his creation,
and he labored constantly.
I don’t have time for a garden,
I said.
I want to see the world,
I want to have many women,
and I want to do something important
with my life.
He repeated his mantra:
Tend to your garden.
To humor him,
I began a small garden of my own.
I spent some time
planting trees, and bushes, and flowers, and plants.
But, even though it was beautiful,
the work was hard,
and I had places to go,
and people to meet,
and things to do.
Years later, I had lived an exciting life.
I met many people
and did many things;
but, I was tired
of the disappointments,
horrors,
hurts,
and other vagaries of fate.
I wanted to taste home again.
I wanted to spend my remaining time
in a small place,
surrounded by nature,
and away from a troubled world.
The gardener was now much older,
and it was clear that he didn’t have a long time left.
But, his garden was still beautiful,
and he spent a lot of time just being in it.
My garden was infested with weeds,
and dead plants, and trees, and there were no flowers
to be seen.
I went home
and resolved,
for what time I had left,
to
tend to my garden.
