The sweat clung to my face hopelessly before giving up and streaking down to its death.
I looked up and acknowledged the sun, probably my closest friend.
I stood up from my crouch and decided against stretching my abused joints. What's the point..
Despite this weeks work, the garden still showed sign of a continued deterioration. Five years ago I would have denied it, would have claimed it was getting better, that those seeds I threw in the dirt every day were finally beginning to take. But now my spirit was numb to the point of apathy, and daily movements were a personal trick I had developed so as to remain ignorant of my cage.
Lately, the voices were asking my why I even cared about the garden. Why I still worked myself to the bone to maintain a failed creation. At first the question hurt, but the more these voices asked..the more I realized I lacked an answer.
It's odd to think about how high my hopes were when I began working on this garden. The soil was so soft, so eager to except the days watering. I still remember going to the World's Market around the corner and buying my first package of seeds.
In this neighborhood the competition for business at the market seems odd to outsiders. You walk in and immediately every seller is screaming for your attention, begging you to plant their seeds, promising abundant fruit. It was hard to choose at first, every product looked so sweet. Just as I reached into my pocket to make my first purchase I heard my name being called across the street. Never had I heard my name out loud before. In this neighborhood we don't really identify ourselves by name, but merely by the productivity of our life garden. That's all that mattered.
If the term familiar stranger should ever be applied, it was now for the man who I was now walking towards. He looked me straight in the eye as I walked towards his corner. I expected him to start screaming like the others, to go straight into his sale pitch. But I saw no price tags anywhere near him. In fact I saw no seeds for sale. We talked for a little bit and I was mystified as to the amount that this man knew about me. Not once did he mention my garden, the hopes I had for my garden, or even whether I had a garden or not. He was interested in me. The more he began asking about myself, the more uncomfortable I got. Finally I lost patience and asked why he had called me over if not to sell me seeds for my garden.
He smiled. 'I'm not here to sell you seeds to plant, I'm here to give you a different kind of soil, for a different kind of garden.' I asked if he was crazy, if he realized how the soil I had was similar to what everyone else had in my neighborhood. 'have you seen their Gardens lately my child.' Well I hadn't, but who was this man to tell me what to do with the garden I had. I asked him why he was giving away this different type of soil for nothing. 'The type of Garden I want you to grow is something you can't work for, something you can't purchase.' I could tell he wanted to go on, but at this point the voices behind me were screaming deals that sounded so delicious. I looked this man one last time in the eye, and found a gentle plea. This man desperately wanted me to receive this special kind of soil, but he wasn't going to force himself on me.
But I thanked the man, and turned away. I spent all of my wages on what the louder voices wanted me too. Refusing to look back across the market to the old man who continued to stare.
I've been thinking about this story a lot lately. So many times I've gone to that market since then, and every time without fail I would hear my name called across the market. I never went back though. The idea of a new type of soil terrified me, and I had plenty of faith in myself and the type of Garden I believed I could grow. I choked down the lump that had developed in my throat. The old man had been right, my garden never produced anything that lasted. Sure the seeds I purchased grew into beautiful plants, but they always withered away after a couple of hours. I crouched back down to begin the pointless work, only to be jolted back up to standing position as a familiar voice called out my name. The old man was standing in front of me.
I asked him what he thought he was doing on my territory
'I've chosen to pursue you in different, more personal kind of way.'
Why do you care so much about giving me this stupid new kind of soil.
'Doesn't look like yours has amounted too much. I've heard the way you've been thinking about yourself, inside. You put all of your worth into this mundane, dry garden.'
Of course I do, that's what we all do. Everyone here. This is what life's all about.
'You really believe that? That this is what you're here for, to work on this Garden?'
The lump inside of my throat was now coming through my eyes in the form of embarrassing tears. I had spent so much time dismissing this notion. That there could be more than my life's garden.
'Take my soil, it's free, and you don't have to work so hard to maintain the garden that it produces. You can actually experience a life without its chains. Through my offer, and through my friendship a new kind of garden will grow.'
I'm so tired.
'I know my son, I know. And I gave up everything to come here today. I wouldn't take it back for a second.'
You mean I'll never have to labor over this new kind of garden again?
'No, there will be work, but we can do it together.'
Why do you care so much about my stupid garden, about my stupid neighborhood, and my stupid life?
'Because I love you my child. And you live in a shallow world. You work on meaningless plants. I want to start something bigger. Through me your life can become so much bigger, these gardens that mean so much to you now will only seem silly the more you get to know me. What do you say....'
I could already feel my attachment to my garden waning, the strings were being cut.
Yes.
