Zen and the Art of Garage Cleaning

For fifteen years, I have wanted to build a Zen rock garden behind our house. My wife has said she would support this decision, but only after I clean the garage.

This seemed to me a reasonable request. So one Sunday morning, in the spring of 1995, I went into the garage with the intent of cleaning, organizing and sweeping the space. I figured I would be done by lunchtime. Then, off to the garden center to pick out the rocks that would be the base for my outdoor meditation room.

Fall of 2010, our backyard is still void of any river stones. I am still in the garage.

The Zen garden, the "dry landscape"--like its creator--is never complete. It is ever-moving and ever-changing. For me, it was to be a place to discover. Discover my thoughts, my visions, and ultimately the edge of my limits.

After fifteen years in the garage and nearly twenty-five years of marriage, I have awoken. The blinders have fallen from my eyes. I can see clearly now that my wife is my Zen master. Though she would deny the very idea, I know she sent me into the garage because it was to be my Zen garden. Never finished, always changing, forever making me redesign and rethink how I can use that space.

I am now content. No longer will I hide my face as the neighbors ask, "Still cleaning?"

My wife, on the other hand, will not be happy at this realization. For now, when she asks the same question she has asked for fifteen years: "When will you be done?"

I will be able to answer in the only way a student of Zen should...

“Never.”