To cultivate a garden is…to go hand in hand with Nature in some of her most beautiful processes.
The feet of the humblest may walk in the field where the feet of the holiest trod. This, then, is the marvel to mortals revealed. When the silvery trumpets of Christmas have pealed, that mankind are children of God.
No mind, no form, I only exist; Now ceased all will and thought. The final end of the Nature’s dance; I am it whom I have sought. A realm of bliss bare, ultimate, beyond both knower and known. A rest immense I enjoy at last; I face the one alone. I have crossed the secret ways of life; I have become the Goal. The Truth immutable is revealed; I am the way, the God-Soul. My spirit aware of all the heights, I am mute in the core of the Sun. I barter nothing with time and deeds; my cosmic play is done.
