I walked the stone paths of Samye\'s grace,
Beneath the watchful eyes of stillness.
Each petal, each breeze, each ripple in the pond—
A mirror asking nothing but presence.
I had carried noise—my old ache and rush—
Like weeds choking the space within.
But in this garden, hands unclenched,
I met myself beneath the skin.
The monks spoke little, and yet I heard—
A silence more precise than thought.
The lesson bloomed: to see what\'s true,
You must first let go of what you’re not.
With Kelli\'s hand, I made my vow—
Not to be perfect, only clear.
To trim with care, to tend the root,
And let love rise when the way is near.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf