Years ago, a mentor with vexing regularity would remind me to look at what’s growing in my Bodhi garden. The gentle reminder irritated me because it brought home a stinging reality, that – if I choose to accept it – I am a co-creator of what shows up in my life.
After some resistance, I begrudgingly peered over to see that in fact, I had a Bodhi garden, where life showed up. The term Bodhi means “awakened”– an undeserving attribute for my garden, as my resistance revealed a low-level woke-ness.
Still, the idea that we travel life as gardeners stuck with me.