How did the rose
Ever open its heart
And give to this world
All its beauty?
It felt the encouragement of light
Against its being,
Otherwise,
We all remain
Too frightened
Hafiz
garden
Verses for Environmental Practice
Waking up in the morning
I vow with all beings
to be ready for sparks of the Dharma
from flowers or children or birds.
Sitting alone in zazen
I vow with all beings
to remember I’m sitting together
with mountains, children, and bears.
Looking up at the sky
I vow with all beings
to remember this infinite ceiling
in every room of my life.
When I stroll around in the city
I vow with all beings
to notice how lichen and grasses
never give up in despair.
Watching a spider at work
I vow with all beings
to cherish the web of the universe:
touch one point and everything moves.
Preparing the garden for seeds
I vow with all beings
to nurture the soil to be fertile
each spring for the next 1000 years.
When people praise me for something
I vow with all beings
to return to my vegetable garden
and give credit where credit is due.
With tropical forests in danger
I vow with all beings
to raise hell with the people responsible
and slash my consumption of trees.
With resources scarcer and scarcer
I vow with all beings
to consider the law of proportion:
my have is another’s have-not.
Watching gardeners label their plants
I vow with all beings
to practice the old horticulture
and let plants identify me.
Hearing the crickets at night
I vow with all beings
to keep my practice as simple –
just over and over again.
Falling asleep at last
I vow with all beings
to enjoy the dark and the silence
and rest in the vast unknown.
By Robert Aitken. Published in Dharma Rain: Sources of Buddhist Environmentalism, ed. Stephanie Kaza and Kenneth Kraft (Boston: Shambhala Publications, Inc., 2000), 471-473.a
In Praise of the Earth
Let us bless
The imagination of the Earth,
That knew early the patience
To harness the mind of time,
Waited for the seas to warm,
Ready to welcome the emergence
Of things dreaming of voyaging
Among the stillness of land.
And how light knew to nurse
The growth until the face of the Earth
Brightened beneath a vision of color.
When the ages of ice came
And sealed the Earth inside
An endless coma of cold,
The heart of the Earth held hope,
Storing fragments of memory,
Ready for the return of the sun.
Let us thank the Earth
That offers ground for home
And holds our feet firm
To walk in space open
To infinite galaxies.
Let us salute the silence
And certainty of mountains:
Their sublime stillness,
Their dream-filled hearts.
The wonder of a garden
Trusting the first warmth of spring
Until its black infinity of cells
Becomes charged with dream;
Then the silent, slow nurture
Of the seed’s self, coaxing it
To trust the act of death.
The humility of the Earth
That transfigures all
That has fallen
Of outlived growth.
The kindness of the Earth,
Opening to receive
Our worn forms
Into the final stillness.
Let us ask forgiveness of the Earth
For all our sins against her:
For our violence and poisonings
Of her beauty.
Let us remember within us
The ancient clay,
Holding the memory of seasons,
The passion of the wind,
The fluency of water,
The warmth of fire,
The quiver-touch of the sun
And shadowed sureness of the moon.
That we may awaken,
To live to the full
The dream of the Earth
Who chose us to emerge
And incarnate its hidden night
In mind, spirit, and light.
John O’Donohue
a garden inside me
A garden inside me, unknown, secret,
neglected for years,
the layers of its soil deep and thick.
Trees in the corners with branching arms
and the tangled briars like broken nets.
Sunrise through the misted orchard,
morning sun turns silver on the pointed twigs,
I have woken from the sleep of ages and I am not sure
if I am really seeing, or dreaming,
or simply astonished
walking towards sunrise
to have stumbled into the garden
where the stone was rolled from the tomb of longing.
– David Whyte
earthy mindfulness 