Early one spring morning, while out on his alms round, the Buddha approached a plowing field owned by a rich Brahman who was distributing food to all his workers.
I work, O monk, I plow and sow, and having worked the fields I eat. You too should plow and sow and then you can eat. The Brahman said, dismissing the Buddha as he approached.
I too plow and sow and having done so I eat. The Buddha replied.
You claim to be a plowman but I see now plow. Tell me, what kind of plowing is it you do?
Asked the Brahman.
Trust or faith is the seed.
Composure the rain.
Mindfulness is my plow and yoke.
Compassion is my guide pole.
Mind is the harness.
Wakefulness is the plow blade.
Well guarded in action and in speech,
I use truth to weed and cultivate release.
Wise effort is the oxen drawing the plow,
steadily towards freedom without regret.
This is how I plow and it bears the fruit of deathlessness, of freedom.
Whoever plows in this way will become free of all the sorrows of the heart.
- The Buddha
Thank you, Charlotte, for making a plowman out of me.
Be it winter or spring,
Raining or sunny,
Night or day,
Cold or stormy,
Each day the garden of my heart I will tend,
With care and with reverence,
So that when we meet again,
I may shower you with roses.