Bookmark #526

When you walk by a garden that seems to be well-tended on all occasions, you appreciate the beauty. You tell a friend about this peculiar garden with no weeds and bushes, almost as if it were sliced out of Eden, and if that is too religious a comparison, then out of a film or book. But just because you cannot see the garden in an unkempt state, and just because you cannot see anything that does not belong there, does not, in any way, suggest some magical property in the soil. Neither does it say anything about the plants. It only means someone pays attention and tends to it regularly with almost surgical precision. All good things that seldom change have someone working inexplicably hard to ensure it stays that way.

But even having a grip on things is a curse. It is the most terrible thing to have it together, for, despite their reservations against it, people crave change and motion. It is unfortunate for a person to not budge in the face of trouble. It is unnatural for them to not go mad or lose their wits over misfortune nor celebrate any achievement with some pompous flair of parties and fanfare. In fact, when all things are as they appear, at all times, to most people, it is a sign of apathy, of not caring. It is unfortunate only because to have things stay the same, no matter what, you must care, you must care very much, about everything. There is no other way.

This is the only thought on my mind for the past few days; that is just about it. The very reason people like the garden is why they despise the owner. It looks the same, they say; nothing ever affects you. Oh, but it concerns me very much, you tell them. It affects me so much I cannot stop working on it. I do not know what to do. It is all I think of and dream of, so I must keep tending to it. If you see no change in it, that is my reward, my glory, and now that you have given me a piece of your mind, that is also my sin.

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