I’ve had a problem lately wanting something to be other than it is. And sitting with this I started to wonder why is it that I need it to be different. It’s pretty perfect just as it is, but it’s the more that I want. More, more, more. More has always been such a dangerous word for me and I tend to shut down when I hear it. But the voices like to insist on it even when I tell them that everything is as it should be. And so I opened up my copy of Love, Freedom, Aloneness by OSHO this morning I opened to this paragraph,
“If you want to bring roses into your garden, forget about roses and take care of the rosebush. Give nourishment to it, water it, take care that it gets the right amount of sun, water. If everything is taken care of, in the right time the roses are destined to come. You cannot bring them earlier, you cannot force them to open sooner. And you cannot ask a rose to be more perfect.”
A friend sent me a quote yesterday that said, “Keep sowing your seed for you never know which will grow–perhaps it all will (Ecclesiastes). Apparently now is the time for sowing, watering, nurturing. My resistance to waiting will not make a rose bloom or bring that more into my life. And as snow flakes fly outside my window winter is trying to remind me to be patient.