just let things be

you might be tired from the last bike ride, but come along with me for this memory.

you see, i was biking along a country road

and as i passed this old man tree

he called out to me in a soft round voice. . .

"have you time" . . .

so i made some.

i got off my bike and sat with my back to him

and listened.

he said,

"i'm glad we can share time.

do you know walt whitman's words?"

stranger!

if you, passing,

meet me,

and desire to speak to me,

why should you

not speak to me?

and why should I not speak to you?

"you see", he continued, "i was thinking those words as you passed.

because i could feel that you needed a story.

and i have just such a story.

it's a story about beauty."

a priest was in charge of the garden within a famous zen temple.

he had been given the job because he loved the flowers, shrubs, and trees.

next to the temple there was another, smaller temple where there lived a very old zen master.

one day, when the priest was expecting some special guests,

he took extra care in tending to the garden.

he pulled the weeds,

trimmed the shrubs,

combed the moss,

and spent a long time meticulously raking up

and carefully arranging all the dry autumn leaves.

as he worked, the old master watched him with interest from across the wall

that separated the temples.

when he had finished, the priest stood back to admire his work.

"isn't it beautiful," he called out to the old master.

"yes," replied the old man, "but there is something missing.

help me over this wall and i'll put it right for you."

after hesitating, the priest lifted the old fellow over and set him down.

slowly,

the master walked to the tree near the center of the garden,

held it by the trunk, and shook it.

leaves showered down all over the garden.

"there," said the old man,

"you can put me back now."

a warm breeze spread its fingers through the old tree rustling his leaves.

the branches swayed slightly.

one brushed my head.

i took this as the end of our time.

~

and see the peaceful trees extend

their myriad leaves in leisured dance—

they bear the weight of sky and cloud

upon the fountain of their veins.

kathleen raine

just let things be.

the zen story was sourced from here.