colors of a garden.

have you ever walked through

a garden

in spring time?

when the dirt looks hard and tired?

brittle still from remeants of cold that

cling despite the sun's beams?

untilled, rocky at the edges.

torn and cracked from

months of aloneness?

it's hard to imagine.

that something,

that anything

 could

come from: 

grey-ness. dull-ness.

often

i assess the outcome

long before the

growing as even taken place.

i often desire the end, first.

without the process.

sometimes i desire to rush things

to rush people

to rush myself

into the potential

that is waiting.

lucky for me.

lucky for you.

farming is left to the wise.

who know better.

this past weekend.

i attended a yoga purification camp

sponsored by Ayurveda Yoga studio.

a group of 40 Koreans and various foreigners

headed up to a quiet hill location in Muju.

among many experiences,

who is in?

tea meditations

PanchaKosha lecture

crying meditation

laughing meditation

yoga nidra

kriya yoga

hatha yoga

various breath techniques

forest walking meditation

all-night mediation

it feels hard to sum up in any respect.

i was introduced to many new things.

my body and mind fluctuated 

moment to moment

in how open and willing i was to push

and test myself.

all the while seeking to remain respectful

and listen to what was occurring

inside.

the balance.

is hard to have.

i couldn't help but think

that

for something to grow 

there must be a cost.

or at least, there must be intention

and time.

always time.

saturday evening arrived

bringing the deep rumbling desires for dinner.

as we made our way into the

dinning area.

never.

have i been greeted with a meal

so divinely pure.

breathtakingly beautiful.
creatively simple.

the colors.

bright.

the forms.

natural.

the concept.

simple.

so simple.

i don't think

i've ever enjoyed or rejoiced

over each bit of raw food bliss.

celebrated each

color for its color.

each taste for its taste.

each juice for the juice.

"well done. you grew splendidly."

my mind wandered to the 

grey-ness. dull-ness.

of the garden in spring.

the dirt, still caked and tight.

for as far as i could see.

and i was reminded

that sometimes it takes time.

and it's unfair to wish the growing

process away.

because it all belongs.

the slowness.

the dullness.

the aloneness.

the greenness.

the gradual life.

the intention.

sometimes we get to chance

to experience the end

even if we are in the middle.

and sometimes it might seem scary,

the end.

but sometimes

it might be as wonderful

as eating the colors 

of a garden.

and so i remind myself,
be present to the process.
and the colors.