Everything looks perfect from far away...Part One

About six years ago, I was walking down a little side street in Logan, during the scorching heat of the summer -- a street that I'd walked many times before on my way to and from work, when I once again looked upon a large tree in the distance, surrounded by lush, soft-looking grass...shade...wildflowers. It beckoned to me this day as it had everyday -- to leave my hurried, sweaty, asphalt-paved path behind me and "go the distance" to reach something better. It seemed the perfect place to rest from the hot summer sun, write in my journal, eat an apple, break away from the street and cars and houses and take the world in a breath. Everyday, it became more romantic and idyllic -- the little world that awaited me across the field, if I'd only take the time.

Finally, I did it. I pushed my way through knee-high wild grasses and crept ever closer, but on arrival found that the wildflowers had a strong (not really pleasant) smell, the grass was more spiky weeds than the soft lush greenery I thought awaited me, and the ground was bumpy and uncomfortable. In addition, there were bits of cinderblock disrupting the scene (hidden by the knee-high scrub-brush), and a decent helping of gnats and other bugs enjoying the shade with me. Disappointed that the reality was far less perfect than I had anticipated, I almost turned back to my walk home, back onto the street in the hot sun, the cars rushing past. But the walk back was long, and something small inside of me said "You made it here. Just do what you came to do."

The spiky weeds and bumpy ground made it so uncomfortable that I finally found a more comfortable "chair" in one of the broken pieces of cinderblock, rested my head against the tree, brushed the bugs from my face, and pulled out my journal. The disappointment faded gradually as I slowly began shifting from the dream I'd imagined to the the reality I was being offered.

With this shift in the tide, new things to appreciate began to float up to the surface: a cool, sweet breeze would occassionally burst from the north -- taking away the bugs, the strange smell of the flowers (which I was gradually growing accustomed to), and bringing the tantalizing whisper of change and motion. The most pleasant surprise came as the winds released tiny delicate white flowers from some nearby tree which swirled around me, settled into my hair, brushed across my shoulders, a few of them resting on my bent knees and the lined pages of the journal in my lap, the rest dancing in the swirling breeze in front of me, and skipping off across the field.

I found something beautiful and mysterious -- something worth being there for. Not what I expected, but worth the journey, nevertheless.

Accepting the whole reality (that is in everyone and everything in this earth) opens a door which welcomes the unanticipated flaws as well as the unexpected beauties -- the "secret garden", if you will. This lesson repeats itself in man and nature...