Tag Archives: Mystery in the garden

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Gardening in darkness


My life is so arranged (rather, I have arranged it) that I find myself making frequent late night drives between the city and the country house. I did that last night, after seeing an exceptional play.

On the drive out I felt very much alone, intensely alone, driving through the late darkness, capsuled in my car. Not a loneliness of longing or depression or sadness, but an existential aloneness, a freedom, an ephiphany of sorts, recognition that I’ve been given a gift, the ability to be aware how tiny and insignificant and brief my life is in this dark, measureless, incomprehensible universe.

I understood that everything, my being, my life, all I do comes out of this darkness. Some of us make gardens out of darkness. Continue reading Gardening in darkness