There’s a garden waiting hidden in the cracks between the red bricks of the University of Richmond campus. It’s small and enclosed with tall hedges, a rectangular pool with water lilies, and a sun dial engraved with a poem that reads:
The kiss of the sun for pardon
The song of the birds for mirth
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth
The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve moved away from a solid concept of a single god or creator to whom I owe praise. Instead, I’ve grown to place all of my faith and adoration into the concept of a continual, universal flow of energy emanating from all living things. This teeming life force is my “god,” and nowhere do I feel more connected to my god than in the natural world.
In the garden, I’m bordered by weathered bricks blanketed in moss, a silhouette of human creation embraced by nature’s omniscience. Fat songbirds hide in the twists of the hedges where it’s safe and sing unseen. Now, in the winter, papery leaves whisper as they scatter across the narrow pathways and smooth, swirling branches of the bare trees lift up past the top of the walls and spill into the opaque sky. It’s impossible not to feel the spirit of every life and every ghost within the walls mingling with mine. Though I may have struggled to feel that formal connection with an accepted or well-documented god, the divinity that I sense when I stop long enough to hear, see, smell, taste, and feel these overwhelming confirmations of brimming, abundant, exquisite life streaming around and through me is enough.
It’s enough to remind me to live well and mindful that I’m a tiny part of this beautiful exchange. Like every energy, mine is intricately linked to those surrounding it and has the power to positively or negatively affect the flow. It’s therefore my obligation and my purpose to respect that universal flow by doing everything I can to contribute positively to the cycle.
The poem that marks the sundial can be interpreted in a number of ways, and that’s the beauty of religion and spirituality. We may call our gods different names, assign different rituals to recognize them, and center our lives more or less on them, but one thing that is certain and unassailable is that evidence of the divine is everywhere in nature, and connecting with it is as simple as knowing where to look.
A song for the day.