In the Garden of Gongshi
by Dave
Picture: Celestial Rock (1881) by Wang Yemei
In the garden of gongshi, I stand,
Amidst the silent stones,
Each one a world unto itself,
A story written in the language of time.
O, stones of the scholar’s hand,
What wisdom do you hold?
Shaped by wind and water’s caress,
Yet steadfast in your silent grace.
You are not mere rocks,
But mirrors of the universe,
Holding mountains in your curves,
Rivers in your hollowed spaces,
And the quiet of the sky
In the depth of your being.
How like you are, my students,
Each one a gongshi in my care,
Carved by the forces of your past,
Yet holding the promise of future landscapes.
There is no need to alter your form,
No need to smooth your edges,
For in your natural state,
You reveal the beauty of what is real.
In the imperfections of your surface,
I see the map of your journey,
The strength of your endurance,
The wisdom that lies in simply being.
You, my gongshi, are the essence of Tao,
Unmoved by the currents of haste,
You grow not by force,
But by the quiet acceptance
Of what each day brings.
I am the humble gardener,
Who walks among you with reverence,
Not to shape you with my hands,
But to place you where the light
Might reveal your hidden splendor.
In the stillness of our classroom garden,
We learn to breathe as one,
To honor the silence that speaks,
To find the space where thought takes root,
And reflection blossoms.
You are the stones that line my path,
The guides that show me the way,
For in your presence, I am reminded,
That the greatest teaching
Is the art of noticing.
Each of you, a world entire,
Each of you, a whisper of the earth’s soul.
In your uniqueness, you form a whole,
A garden of thoughts,
Where wisdom is the fruit.
There is no rush for you to change,
No hurry for you to become.
Like gongshi, your power lies,
In the quiet endurance of your being,
In the way you transform,
Simply by being seen.
O, garden of gongshi,
You teach me every day,
That in the stillness of your presence,
The truth of the universe unfolds.
And as I walk among you,
I find my own reflection,
In the stones that speak without words,
In the silent eloquence of your form.