by donkeytale
Tue Jun 6th, 2006 at 08:24:32 AM EST
She stood quietly at the window. I had brought her to me to provide instruction. My life had become a mess again. The tangles of time,people,alcohol, madness.
For years I had struggled against myself, kept myself heavily secured in emotional chains, mental bondage, a slave to others. I had worked very hard against all odds to remain a failure and had failed even that test. Accidental success had only deepened my misery. There are no chains wrapped tighter than those forged by easy success.
She took the glass I offered her and sat down across from me.
"What was your first job?"
"You mean as an adult?"
"No. Your first job."
I thought for a moment.
"My dad was a gardener. When I was eleven he made me work with him Wednesday, Thursday and
Friday all summer mowing peoples lawns."
Not a single friend of mine missed a single moment of his summer that year, I recalled with an acuity not diminished one bit by the passage of some forty odd years.
"Was your father the best gardener?"
"Not really. He did a lot of quantity over quality I would say. We hustled."
"Did you know this at the time, that there was a better way?"
"Well, sort of...the wealthy people always hired the nisei gardeners to tend their landscaping. The nisei were the best gardeners. Some of the designs in Beverly Hills or the old mansions in Pasadena...unbelievable."
"The nisei were interned during World War II. They seemed very bitter about it. They stayed to themselves."
I remembered a schoolboy crush I had on the daughter of one of the nisei in our town. She never returned my valentines card. Never even thanked me for the big heart shaped cherry sucker I left on her desk.
"Yes. They were born in America, in fact were among the earliest residents of southern California and yet they were imprisoned for years simply because of their japanese heritage." I always know my facts, even when the knowledge makes me unhappy.
"You have a lot of lawn. What is your favorite part?"
"The side yard by the patio."
"Yes, its lovely. You must make it perfect."
I looked at her.
"Do you know what is "perfect?"
I looked at her.
"Go work on your lawn until it is perfect."
I looked at her.
"You will know when it is...and when it is not. Perfect isn't a picture in a design magazine, no matter how glorified. It cannot be found in anyone's yard. The perfection I am talking about cannot be attained outside the place you inhabit. It cannot exist for anyone but you. The award winning lawn of your neighbor can never be your perfection."
I looked at her.
"You will find perfection only as a feeling which arises within you. Most important you must make yourself open and available to it. Otherwise, there is no path."
I looked at her.
"The goal of your life is to maintain your perfect lawn each day. As you do so and it becomes a routine habit, the feeling will transform into an attitude, an attitude which you may then bring into other parts of your life."
I looked at her.
"An attitude which you can only build one 'perfect lawn' at a time."
She rose and walked out the french door to the patio, then stepped back across the threshold.
"Its a big yard and there is still some sunlight..."
She left quietly without saying goodbye. I stared at the open door for a moment, felt a sudden heaviness pass through my body, then stood up and walked outside.
Tue Jun 6th, 2006 at 08:24:32 AM EST
She stood quietly at the window. I had brought her to me to provide instruction. My life had become a mess again. The tangles of time,people,alcohol, madness.
For years I had struggled against myself, kept myself heavily secured in emotional chains, mental bondage, a slave to others. I had worked very hard against all odds to remain a failure and had failed even that test. Accidental success had only deepened my misery. There are no chains wrapped tighter than those forged by easy success.
She took the glass I offered her and sat down across from me.
"What was your first job?"
"You mean as an adult?"
"No. Your first job."
I thought for a moment.
"My dad was a gardener. When I was eleven he made me work with him Wednesday, Thursday and
Friday all summer mowing peoples lawns."
Not a single friend of mine missed a single moment of his summer that year, I recalled with an acuity not diminished one bit by the passage of some forty odd years.
"Was your father the best gardener?"
"Not really. He did a lot of quantity over quality I would say. We hustled."
"Did you know this at the time, that there was a better way?"
"Well, sort of...the wealthy people always hired the nisei gardeners to tend their landscaping. The nisei were the best gardeners. Some of the designs in Beverly Hills or the old mansions in Pasadena...unbelievable."
"The nisei were interned during World War II. They seemed very bitter about it. They stayed to themselves."
I remembered a schoolboy crush I had on the daughter of one of the nisei in our town. She never returned my valentines card. Never even thanked me for the big heart shaped cherry sucker I left on her desk.
"Yes. They were born in America, in fact were among the earliest residents of southern California and yet they were imprisoned for years simply because of their japanese heritage." I always know my facts, even when the knowledge makes me unhappy.
"You have a lot of lawn. What is your favorite part?"
"The side yard by the patio."
"Yes, its lovely. You must make it perfect."
I looked at her.
"Do you know what is "perfect?"
I looked at her.
"Go work on your lawn until it is perfect."
I looked at her.
"You will know when it is...and when it is not. Perfect isn't a picture in a design magazine, no matter how glorified. It cannot be found in anyone's yard. The perfection I am talking about cannot be attained outside the place you inhabit. It cannot exist for anyone but you. The award winning lawn of your neighbor can never be your perfection."
I looked at her.
"You will find perfection only as a feeling which arises within you. Most important you must make yourself open and available to it. Otherwise, there is no path."
I looked at her.
"The goal of your life is to maintain your perfect lawn each day. As you do so and it becomes a routine habit, the feeling will transform into an attitude, an attitude which you may then bring into other parts of your life."
I looked at her.
"An attitude which you can only build one 'perfect lawn' at a time."
She rose and walked out the french door to the patio, then stepped back across the threshold.
"Its a big yard and there is still some sunlight..."
She left quietly without saying goodbye. I stared at the open door for a moment, felt a sudden heaviness pass through my body, then stood up and walked outside.
