Nothing Left to Do

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.

The Zen proverb does not say the grass grows because you finally understand something. It grows because you stopped interfering. Most mornings we arrive at the bay already planning, already fixing, already convincing ourselves that stillness requires effort. But effort is the opposite of what's needed. The grass doesn't grow faster when you watch it closely. It grows while you're not looking, while your hands rest in your lap and your breath finds its own rhythm. This is not laziness. This is permission.