There's a new comment added to that post, which I've reposted below:
i have a feeling this blog is about me...i remember with great clarity saying those exact words... it is... i live my life with passion...and excitement... while you sit quietly...in your guilt...watching me dig in the dirt...i am digging with such passion...and such excitement... i am immersed in it with all that i am...there is only one thought in that one moment....
if there was no passion in planting your garden...the garden would not capture you as it has.....
when i am welding...sweating...and bleeding it is with great passion.. the welding reminding me of my strength... the sweating of my endurance...the bleeding of my mortality...
i'm no expert... but i see passion in your eyes... i hear passion in your words... and i feel passion in your presence....
First of all, I guess the commenter. kelleyO, has sort of narc'd herself out here. She was indeed the friend to whom I was referring, and is also — as you may have deduced from her comments about my garden — Ms. Landscape Person.
She makes a valid point about passion. If she didn't have passion, I wouldn't have a garden or flower bed, because I certainly lacked the passion and/or self-discipline to do it myself. She took the ball on this project and ran with it. She chose the plants, the paving stones for the patio, and found Richard Rowe, who built the deck and fence.
Eight weeks ago, my front yard looked pretty ratty and my back yard looked like a jungle, and kelleyO was the catalyst for making it into what it is now. It was her passion that made that happen. (Well, my credit card played a part, too. Labor and capital.)
Do I have passion, as she suggests? Maybe, in the sense that I have a passion for non-passion. I've gone to some effort to get myself off the roller coaster of emotions and attachment. I'm still too antisocial and contrarian to sit with a sangha, but I've devoted a lot of time to reading Buddhist teachers and the original sutras and writings of the ancient Taoist sages.
watching me dig in the dirt...i am digging with such passion...and such excitement... i am immersed in it with all that i am...there is only one thought in that one moment....
There's a little bit of zen in that statement, I think. (More knowledgeable people may disagree.)
I've mentioned before the 'three pounds of flax' story. You might retell that story this way: The gardener was busy planting a flower when a man asked her, "What is Buddha?"
"A spadeful of dirt," the gardener replied.
And I think that would have been just as appropriate an answer as 'three pounds of flax.'
I have no conclusion to put here, so I'll just stop.
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