Here in the garden,
do not ask who made it,
or why, or when.
The garden is
and you are.
Be.
Things are
what they seem
and are not
what they seem
and neither is true
or untrue.
There are islands
and forests
and vast
grey seas,
if you see it so.
There are peaks
above rolling blankets
of grey cloud,
Mount Sumeru
and Mount Hiei,
if you see it so.
And there is yourself.
If you see it so,
there are twelve small rocks
of no consequence
from Cumbria
and Aberdeenshire,
from screes
and spoil heaps
and river beds.
You can make of the garden
what you will.
But it may, perhaps,
make something of you,
which you were not,
if you wait
and are still;
if you become one
with the garden
and move beyond thought
or imagination,
and are,
as the garden
is.