Stepping stones in the Japanese Garden

 In Maymont park there is a Japanese garden, centered around a lake. There is bamboo, stone sculptures, a small pergola on the water, bridges, and round stepping stones connecting the shore to an island. This was the first Japanese garden I experienced and it set the tone for me for all the other Japanese gardens. There is always a lively wait for the stepping stones: somebody is coming, somebody is going, somebody is changing their mind while blocking everyone else, but there are always people lining up to experince this walk across the water. When I was single, every time I came to the garden, I couldn't wait to walk across, even knowing where the distance between the stones lengthens and one needs to reach further in the next step. When my kids were younger, we occasionally visited. The children were drawn to the stones like magnets and the distances seemed periliously far. All of a sudden, there was a calculation: do I want to risk a child getting wet in this weather? Do I have a change of clothes? Will they be able to hop across on their own? Where do I leave the stroller? Do I go after them, or stay back and wait till they circle across the bridge and around the lake? 

Once everyone was older and wiser, the stepping stones became a relief. Now the adventure were the kids getting lost in the bamboo on the hillside, climbing up and down the nearby waterfall. The stones were a quick detour.

During the pandemic, Maymont became a relief in the sense that this was a safe outdoor place. Then someone noticed the perpetual congestion by the stepping stones, and the path across the island was closed. Life came to a standstill.

Now all of that is behind us. I simply wanted to go to Maymont because it is spring and it is beautiful. I was suffering from a deficit of nature and wide horizons beyond the computer screen. None of the children wanted to come. I did not push and insist but I was sad. It didn't help that everywhere there were families lining up, taking those spring family photos, all matchy outfits, smiling, saying cheese, rosy cheeks and giggles...

I wanted to go to the gardens, to the water. Before the park opened, we spotted some deer through the fence, hanging out by the lake. By the time we came to that area, the deer were long gone.

When we got to the stones, for the first time in my life, I did not rush to go across. I wanted to give others the space to go, take photos, take their time, and not be rushed. After we crossed, I sat in the pergola and watched more people cross.

A couple that crossesd before us stood out. The woman went ahead, but after a few steps, she hesitated. The man was snapping her photos. "Are you scared?" he asked. "A little," she answered. I don't think they said much more until they were all the way across.

These stones and the path are a metaphor for life. Some rush right across, some never go. Some walk with others, some alone. Some feel the need to comment on every step, some go in silence. Some parents carry their kids across, some allow independence or recklessness. Some feel the need to instruct and warn. Some stop along the way for selfies, looking at themselves. Some stop to observe large koi swimming by, looking out. Some go against the current. Some get chastised for this. Some don't seem to care.

While all of this is happening, the stones are the same and the lake is the same. The stones are never getting closer or farther apart. The lake is placid, safe for a ripple caused by the wind.

"Are you scared?"
"A little."

I have asked myself this questions many times. I have answered it both in the affirmative and in the negative. I have berated myself for not being braver, stronger, quicker, for not crossing in the coolest way, for blocking others, for making a fool out of myself. Even during this walk, I was silently angry that I was not able to prevail and bring/drag/bribe/exhort my children into coming along. I was crossing those stones bereft of my sharing this experience, this insight with them.

"Are you scared?"
"A little."

Such kindness, such grace in this question and answer exchange. I wish someone else would ask me whether I were scared to do all these things, whether I were scared that the children are drifting away, that the family is drifting apart. I wish I had a space to acknowledge my fear before I would step
on those stones because this is the path through the garden of insight.