Portland Japanese Garden

Seekers

by Val Bruech

Fear and anticipation meet. Past and present touch.

Our eyes seek each other: they are alike and brown, except amber suns reside in his. The last time I looked in these eyes they were blue, I remember.

It was thirty-three years ago.

The view from the pavilion is shrouded as we speak of places we have lived, ideas that matter, those we love.

At the sand garden he listens intently as I describe his biological father.

We descend through the natural garden and take shelter from the heavy mist. Rain seethes, tugged by gravity to its destination, and I wonder:

Is this an alleluia moment or merely a curiosity-satisfying interlude?

In this hallowed place, the heart finds a new dimension.

The Blessings of Obon

by Shoshana Edwards

In 1998 my beloved husband of many years died of pancreatic cancer. For many weeks and months after, I felt an unrest in the house, as if his spirit was still with me, unable to move on and leave me alone.

I received a notice of the Obon Festival at the Japanese Garden and immediately made plans to attend. I purchased special clothes, wore some flowers in my hair, and arrived early to obtain a quiet clear view of the pond.

The volunteers were wonderful and compassionate as they took requests from those attending and set our candles a-sail. Calm and serene release settled over me like a gossamer quilt as the chanting of the monks blended with the sounds of the garden. I felt my husband leave on his new journey, and I once again knew joy and contentment in my heart and soul.

Summons

by Annie Lighthart

When the girl pounded the stone three times,
the fish rose like leaves stirred from the pond.

She showed us the smallest, the greedy, the old,
and the one who made her sad: he who won't come out from the rock.

Bellies of white and backs of gold stretched and broke
the skin of the pond. Above the water their mild noses
turned circles of unexpected fierceness. Then I believed
that one could have walked on water, if only on the backs of fish,
curve of foot finding rise in sleek bone and fin. Then I understood
the hunger in both answer and call,
how what carries it forward can be stretched like a hand or shining
like one who drifts and disappears.

The Seventh Night of the Seventh Moon

by Rosemary Klein

Widowed half a year, I thought it would happen at Obon: we'd gather by the Upper Pond beside the weeping willow or maybe across the water at the Peace lantern and I'd set out my floating candle. I would know the presence of your spirit. But no. You waited till the next July, for Tanabata, festival of separated lovers. Stars reconnecting across the Celestial River. O my Incurable Romantic on the far side of the Milky Way, you knew best.

Koi Watch

by Pat

Two years ago we had a visit from an old friend, a trial attorney from Denver, CO who wanted to see the Japanese Garden even though it involved walking and he'd had previous heart surgeries.

We three walked in a fine mist, slowly, through the Garden, taking frequent rest stops, enjoying the tranquility and the rain which was gentle that day.

We stopped at the koi pond. Time stopped for all of us. We stood apart from each other, gazing at the brilliant colors of the koi as they gracefully moved through the water. We were lost in time for awhile, amid memories of other times we three had spent together.

Our friend died in March 2007. How precious for us is the memory of timeless beauty shared.

Moments

by Carol Imani

I am at the Japanese Garden with Lilian, my best friend for thirty years. To celebrate being in remission from cancer she is visiting from New York. We don't know that by next year at this time she will be dead. We walk under radiant spring trees, up and down plump steps glowing with rain and moss, each a work of art in itself. We invent Asian-sounding aphorisms, giggling with our foreheads together, our brown and red curls mingling in the breeze.

Another time I am on a field trip with a class of boys from the Juvenile Detention Center. They never suspected that such a place existed in Portland or anywhere, and as they gaze around wide-eyed and in awe, healing is occurring moment by moment. For me as well.

I am at the Japanese Garden.

Japanese Garden

by Leslie Gray

A reawakening.
My mother the guide
delicately
leads school children
on paths near bubbling koi,
under arching branches,
and past smoothly raked sand
that circles towering stones.
She reveals
the history of the garden
with her eye on Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens;
the city's dramatic backdrop.
Visitors from far and wide
glisten
as she uncovers
manicured shrubs, leafy maples,
mysterious lanterns, and
hidden watery oases.
Following
narrow arteries and precarious stairs,
she urges them
to tread lightly through the maze
and back in time for
tea.
The garden is
Breathing
through my mothers' words.
Images
of tranquility
linger with all who accompany her.

Better than Prozac

by Barbara Blossom Ashmun

My boyfriend Phil and I were eating mushroom omelettes at a little cafe, when he stood up and walked out the door. Surprised, I figured he'd gone to get something from his van. But the minutes ticked by and he never came back. A jolt of fear coursed through me like lightening—was our relationship over?

I paid the check and headed for my car. I sat there, stunned, trying to decide where to go. I needed a safe haven where I could put things in perspective.

Suddenly I knew. I drove to the Japanese Gardens. Climbing the gravel path, I inhaled the scent of fir, and relaxed into the green world. I headed for the pond and contemplated the two cranes and the water's still surface. Whatever would happen would be fine. Here in this place of serenity, my soul had found a resting place, and was at peace.

Contrast

by Betty Lee Kasoff

The world is a chaotic place, fast, noisy, and ambitious.

As a professor who spent a great deal of time in rural China before the onset of market socialism I've developed a deep appreciation for the silent predictability of the seasons and what they mean to all plants and animals. In a world that seems quite immune to the soft breezes of spring, the silent snows, even the intense heat of a summer sun I often feel like a stranger.

So, it was with intense pleasure that I discovered, upon moving to Oregon, the Japanese Garden. Here I found not only a beautiful and balanced environment but also a group of people that understood the nature of plants.

My husband and I never visit Portland without strolling through the garden. And with each visit we discover something new.

Being There

by Bev Balliett

I've watched my friend, Liz, fall in love – with your garden. When she first visited in 2007, she was spellbound, regardless of the minimalist November palette surrounding her. The sensual impression was beyond the visual. The peace she felt stayed with her.

The garden is an endless canvas of photos for me; I try to capture each impression, yet my efforts are paled by my memories. I flit through seasons, hoping to capture the elusive quality that always calls me back.

Liz has captured her impressions on the canvas of her heart and carries them with her at home in California or on pilgrimage here to renew her spirit. She truly is at one with the garden.

afternoon reflections

by Bob Schroeder

Hawk's shadow across
raked white stones – below, zigging
zagging - dragonflies

Waterfalling – voices
through sun-dappled trees – distant
town – this floating world

Below waterfalls
skimming waterbug ripples
pond's reflection

Blue sky green leaves grey
trunks green moss grey rocks bubbling
stream reflecting sky

With a Little Help from Nature

by Cara Holman

It was a day like any other day, with one important difference. I was pregnant with my third child, and a full two weeks past my due date. I had one more shot at going into labor on my own, and I was bound and determined to make it happen. We had eaten spicy Mexican food for lunch, but to no avail. "Let's try walking up and down some hills," I suggested in desperation. "That will surely get things moving."

And that's how we found ourselves in the Portland Japanese Garden that March afternoon, thirteen years ago. I can't say for sure whether it was the tranquility and serenity of the garden that worked its magic on me or simply the brisk walking, but when I checked into the hospital hours later, I was indeed in active labor. Our healthy eight pound son was born early the next morning.

Meditation Walk

by Chayo Wilson

I took a meditation walk in the Japanese gardens after yoga to deepen my practice. Something stopped me in my tracks. It resembled a Torii. The Torii gate symbolizes a separation between the mundane world and the divine, "Gateways to Heaven".

I am a multimedia artist. Recently I made some "Toriis", little altars or shrines using found pieces of wood metal ceramic. I stopped in my meditation walk to take full notice of this gateway.

A David Whyte poem "Enough" was meandering through my head that particular day and it was causing me to shift the gears of my focus.

I let go of my old self, and walked through the gateway accepting "The life I had refused again and again until now."

Each gateway in the Japanese gardens (and there are many beautiful ones) is an opportunity to renew ourselves in the present moment.

Wellspring

by Cynthia Richardson

I moved through the rich-scented paths with careful steps, my eyes lingering on each plant and tree and mossy stone, moist air swathing my skin in coolness. Breathing was easier here as I rested at the koi pond; the waterfall's music mesmerized. It was mid-October 2001 and it had been the sort of year that no one cares to imagine. First, a most ill-suited job; then the death of my mother, leaving me bereft of parents; my own heart disease emerging at age 51; and the catastrophic losses of 9/11. It was accumulated grief that brought me here and the well of my spirit filled slowly with the great relief of beauty. I moved on, freed by the quietude of this hillside garden, the intricacy of shadow and light, heft of rock and tenderness of leaf, the journey of water from heaven to earth. And healing happened.

Garden Remembrances

by Dennis Koga

As a student over 30 years ago, I worked in the Gardens: I flew hata and rokkaku kites where the pavilion now stands. I drove the rickety shuttle bus, moved koi, and learned to weed by hand. As the night watchman, I lived in a small trailer overlooking the gardens from one autumn through the following spring.

I walked the grounds at least once a night, and I experienced:

Exquisite stillness
Quieting the outer world
Hearing me within.

I grew accustomed to the dark and learned the gardens' intimacies of space and place, whether by moonlight or not; in rain, mists, or simply quiet.

Koi breaking surface
Crickets and frogs singing loud
Starry trees above.

After a quarter century away, I returned last year and could now understand the lesson in timelessness first revealed so long ago,

Appreciating
Away from youth's impatience
What never changes.

The Boar Chaser

by Eileen Elliott

Its purpose to startle interlopers to this glade
With snap and clatter of bamboo
The splash of water as it trips the dipper
The trickle across stones
The brush of gentle leaves patterned on moss
Neither boar nor deer trouble the tender shoots
All that is chased away here in the garden:

My broken heart
My losses
My fear of what's to come

Dreams

by Nicolas Hinsinger

The moment I stepped into the Japanese garden felt like entering a new world filled with colorful images and peacefulness, reminiscent of Akira Kurosawa's movie Dreams. Cherry blossom, ancient stones, ponds, waterfalls, and gentle streams suddenly transported me into the heart of Japan. My senses started to capture the profound atmosphere of this place as I was wandering in areas of serene and quiet beauty. From this captivating experience emerged a feeling of fulfillment as if one was dreaming while still being awake. As I walked down the alleys, I felt connected to nature, its presence acting like a mirror of the soul reflecting different feelings that change like the color of seasons. Finally, the sight of the sand and stone garden reminded me of the stillness that illustrates the daily life of Zen Buddhist monks as time froze for a moment to catch a glimpse of eternal tranquility.

The tree that knows my story

by Judy Teufel

Friends helped me find ways to take breaks from the harsh realities of treatment for cancer. One friend drove me up to the gate of the Japanese Garden on a cold spring morning 11 years ago. We walked slowly along the path toward the tea house, and I was stunned at the sight of the maple – one limb hollowed out and fresh leaves unfurling at the tip. I said to my friend that I felt inspired by the persistence and endurance of the acer palmatum disecturm. The photograph that she took of that tree (my inspiration for courage) reminds me of the healing power of the garden. I've returned often to check that tree, always with the hope that both of us are keeping on.

January 2002

by Kathryn Mustonen

In the gray January morning the rain dripped from the bare branches of the maples onto the green moss below. Interrupting the silence in the Japanese Garden, the stream trickling down the hillside over the rocks and splashing into the leaf-covered pools and the whispering breeze brushing the cedar branches overhead were the only sounds that were heard. Two people shared the wooden bench in the shelter looking through the trees up the hill. While we sat together our breath fell into prayerful rhythm quieting the chaotic world that lay outside the garden walls. For a few moments strangers silently acknowledged a new year surrounded by the peace and tranquility that the garden contained. We stood and with subtle recognition parted and continued on our own paths up the stone steps carrying profound stillness within us.

A poem about free admission day 2008

by Lance Linder

Never having learned the principles, I'm left to look
One winding
Upon another.

A crook ready to snatch my mind before I have time to settle.
A snake
Coils over
And under the paths,
Its skin flecked with scales of fleece and nylon and denim.

Many colors vie for primacy,
Few are wise enough to step aside.
Each has a device to validate the day.
Each respires
And flexes
As if it is a separate entity.

The garden shrugs
Bodies collect in pools
And under shelter
And along streams
Leaning into the asymmetry of the land.
Pebbles fall in line.

The world trickles, wets the bowl.
Quiet waits awhile.

The Stone Steps

by Linda Z. Knab

The stone steps, mossy and uneven, curved ahead, at first in pale, dappled sunlight, then vanishing into the oncoming mist. I grasped the smooth bamboo banister and took the steps slowly, ignoring the landing and the tempting bench.

It seemed important not to stop and I don't know—and for a moment there was nothing else in the entire universe - just the smooth, cool bamboo in my hand and the bumpy steps leading me higher and higher until I, too, disappeared into the silent fog.

And I thought, this is my life's path: steep, uncertain, the end inevitable but invisible to me. No matter how I am tempted to stop and rest, I must continue my brief journey, grateful to the end for its sad and unexpected beauty.

The Garden's Soothing Symbol

by Loeta McElwee

My first visit to the Japanese Garden was with a friend, a volunteer at the Garden. She invited me to see the evening ceremony of floating paper boats with lighted candles. There is a Japanese Symbolic name for it. So beautiful a memory to treasure.

My daughter and I often went for walks in the Garden and always finished up with quiet meditation in the Rock & Sand Garden. How soothing the lines of raked sand; how strong the rocks appeared. Even more important was that meditation energy meant "recovery" after my daughter's best friend was killed by her fiancé...in my daughter's car. My daughter survived four shots before he took his own life. That tragedy was 19 years ago. Along with counseling and friends, the recovery memory of walking in the garden with my daughter soothes and strengthens me. A sacred place, a healing place.

Comfort in Camellias

by Lynn Otto

Can a person find any real comfort in camellias? In sculptured pines and ponds of koi? My sister thought so. She called me two weeks after my son was sent home from college, too depressed to study, too anxious to sleep, too much of a drain on the student life staff. "I'm picking you up in an hour," she said. "Wear walking shoes." She hung up.

I thought about calling her back, telling her I couldn't go anywhere. Didn't dare go anywhere. But I did want to leave, desperately. It's hard to hear a baby cry, but terrible to hear a young man cry. I could not comfort him.

Contemplative gifts of the garden

by Lynn Sherman

One day I brought my journal with me as I enjoyed a morning at the garden, and wrote as I sat in contemplation:

Love spreads through the trees,
Green angels stirred by wind.
Waterfalls sing praise.

Green beauty ponders,
The sky changes with purpose.
Patient senses reach.

Patterns of rock flow,
Each plant with a role to play.
Asian beauty sings.

The path is simple~
The way emerges brightly.
I have no doubts now.

I am so grateful to have a relationship with such a divine garden.

More Than Black Jute and Pruning Shears

by Maggie Schneider

Is it exaggeration to say a garden can change one's life? Frequent visits to the Portland Japanese Garden this season have altered the way I see. Redolent of fir and pine, even the air breathed in this hushed, harmonious space has created a new aesthetic for me. Beauty of place has transformed how I look at life and art.

Nor could I have anticipated this outcome. Here was nature with its keen relationships of mosses and maples, stones and pebbles, splashing water and whispering koi. It sparked my desire to learn more: of Zen, bamboo, tea bowls, scrolls, woodblock prints, Japanese homes, tansu, and most significantly the idea of garden, entirely transformative.

This rare, complex Garden taught me to see nature in a wholly new way: detailed, close-up and intimate, beheld by the eye but experienced by the soul.

A lone bird sings true

by Margaret Ann Case

A lone bird sings true
Tall trees touch the morning sky
Soul, heart, garden… One!

(As my younger, and only, sister who is also my best friend receives a stem cell transplant and treatment for lymphoma, the Japanese Garden was a most welcome respite. The Garden's noble beauty and peace transported me, and helped me transcend my worries in the moment.)

Serenity

by Marsie Martien

Journaling has given me great pleasure as it helps me process, sift, explore, and a tranquil setting is ideal for this endeavor. It is therefore no surprise that a dear friend suggested I join the Portland Japanese Garden when I moved to Portland. Not until an OPB member free day at the gardens did I make a visit. I was in awe, sitting for hours journaling and contemplating, oblivious to any passerby. I joined PJG on my next trip and took a guest with me on each visit. A year later I went alone to watercolor journal, sitting under a rhododendron next to Serenity Pond. Serenity is indeed what I felt as I watched the ducks and fish, and listened to the gurgling of the water with the sound of the waterfall in the distance. What a gem in the heart of Portland.

The Japanese Garden, a Most Respectful Place

by Mary Dickson

I invited a young Japanese visitor to attend O-bon Festival with me. Though she believed that America could not perform O-bon correctly, she reluctantly agreed to go.

We stood silently near the Moon Bridge, listening to Reverend Kodachi chant. Suddenly, my friend's shoulders shook and she sobbed. She explained that her fiancé's father had recently committed suicide. The O-bon ceremony brought forth all of her sadness, and it was the first time she grieved openly.

We walked to the east side of the pavilion, still tearful. An American gentleman approached us, bowed, and said softly, "I honor the person for whom you grieve tonight." My friend was amazed at his compassion. She observed that the Garden's O-bon Festival was everything I had promised --respectful and beautiful.

She is now happily married and has mentioned how meaningful the Portland O-bon was for her.

Grey Tai Chi

by James Wolfe

They reach
grey has never been like this
Lift and slow turn
a younger wiser grey
Counter clockwise
The wrists held forward and raised
The sun     the puppeteer
Everything is silent and receding
Except their eyes
As heads cock and bow
A blink is where it all happens
Between the toe leaving the ground and
The gingko leaves turning golden
one more time.

Garden Snow

by Laurence Hoppell

In November of 1986 another photographer and I planned to photograph the garden in snow, if it ever did. The Friday before Thanksgiving there was about three inches on the ground when I woke up and we set out for the garden. I was a member at the time and figured we could get in (to) photograph early, before the crowds. Upon arriving we discovered we were the only persons there with the exception of a gardener which we did not see but saw evidence of. We waited for over an hour for someone to show up to open by no one came. Our photos were rapidly melting when a large car drove up the drive and parked next to mine. An older couple got out and we asked when the garden would open. The woman told us she was the Garden Society president and she was here just to check the flora and facilities for damages. The garden would not be open as insurance would not allow visitors to be on the grounds with snow. She would allow us, however, to enter and photograph as much as we wanted while she checked everything but when she blew her whistle we were to proceed immediately to the gate.

We photographed. When her whistle sounded I had just exposed the last frame of film that I brought with me. Since that time I have related this story many times.

Garden Ginko

by Johnny Baranski

The oppressive heat could not deter nor wilt the many visitors to the Portland Japanese Garden on Mother's Day 2006. Grandmothers, mothers, their daughters, mothers to be, single mothers, families fractured and whole took advantage of the Garden and the full measure of spring in bloom.

My Haiku Society of America colleague and fellow poet Dave Baldwin and I were invited to read our haiku, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, as part of the day's planned events. It was an honor and a joy. But in between those readings while on a person "Ginko," that is to say a haiku walk, in this lovely place teeming with people I was reminded that haiku is more than just poetry—it is a way of life.

no road rage
along the haiku path-
just give and take

kameramuse

by Janie Hinkle-Clayton

the act of capturing feelings and words
thru my camera lens

the coil of wire binding the rails
glittering copper in the sun
fringes of rope, gracefully falling towards the ground
catching raindrops

a fallen leaf, delicately balancing on the bamboo

water – falling, dripping, reflecting

flower petals delicately floating
thru the air – to my outstretched hand

strangers, absorbing the energy
finding solace in the garden

lending me their cameras
so they can all be in the picture

photographers' hours, where visitors are few
and the quiet surrounds me

as I take the time to find my inner focus
and capture the picture I see in my "mynds" eye

by Mia Monroe

Haiku thoughts after 1/28 walk with new friends who were at home among their "old friends" of Japanese landscape thanks to time living in Kyoto, and joy of meeting director and gardeners to learn from them as well as share our appreciation . . we were visiting as part of Xerces society celebration in honor of Lepidopterist conservation at Robert Michael Pyle.

Winter Walk

snow filigrees sand lines
green moss lights Jizo
star bursts pond ice new friends

Portland's Japanese Garden

by Mae Ninomiya

Have you ever visited Portland's Japanese Garden?
Is it like a garden in Japan?
Enter through wooden Japanese Garden. Now, you're in Japan.
The natural terrain of Portland sets the beautiful hillside of blazon red azaleas—solid mass like they grow in Sapporo.
The noon day Sun glitters everywhere.
From high atop the garden, the bubbly waterfall flows from the hilly slope like Multnomah Falls zigzagging into the canal.
The brilliant koi, flashing dark orange, heard your footsteps and swam to the surface of the pond—tiny mouths everywhere.
Douglas firs, years and years old, sway in the breeze. Tall and thick, darker green, reaching to the sky. Are you in the foothills of Mt. Hood?
From the pavilion's three feet wide shoji screen doors, view the majestic, fluffy white Mt. Hood proudly greeting us to Portland.
A historical visit of Japan's ambassador Nobuo Matsunaga declared the Portland's Garden to the most authentic Japanese garden outside of Japan.

We must be proud of our Japanese Garden.

Open Source

by Lisa C. Gorlin

The shortcut path across stone steps has become a waterfall in the downpour; last time the trees were blooming. In every season I find my own world to experience in the Garden . . . rare, pristine, vibrant, an oasis in the city . . . the trees breathe sighs of relief, releasing their energy. Bamboo, water, wood, sand and stone harmonize into melodies both audible and invisible, creating subtle ripples of awareness, enfolding me in their expansive, peaceful embrace.

The Japanese Garden is a place of release where internal dialogue melts away, cancelled out by the tune of universal connection to which all life subscribes; a personal rejuvenation and holistic renewal where the joy of one is that of all. No one is alone.

Cutting through the tennis courts I take the long way back to town, my heart full, reveling in life down to the tiniest insect and blade of grass.

The Japanese Garden

by Merle Alexander

It's chilling-damp
and afternoon is fading
into soft light
this hazy November day.

I walk slowly.
I see.
I listen.
I smell the earth
and sweetness in the air.

I feel at peace.

I hear water
Falling from bamboo angled
into a stonecold bowl.
Every drop sounds clearly
yet makes as much noise
as a waterfall might
. . . if I stop long enough
and stand still enough
to really listen.

Benches beckon
me to contemplate
contrasts:
rocks and grass
hard and soft
smooth and rough
circles and lines
undulating bushes
raked sand gardens.

Golden leaves float down,
looking like holiday ornaments
atop evergreen bushes
and between bare branches.

A loud-rushing waterfall
races into a pool
that's oddly still.
The koi hug
the bottom and move
effortlessly,
oblivious to amazed visitors.

Did you ever walk in a garden
and not see a thing?
Or did you notice
everything?

Letters from the Garden

by Michael Faletra

That there is another world -- I am sure I have seen
a world in the pond -- leaning over the bridge I have seen
my body pierced by fish keen as arrows.

Flies thick on the pines oozing
pitch of it, they glisten sweet
heaviness of sap.

Trees lift, leaves shine, magnolia
leaves were once runes I could read: they spelled,
they told me how.

Unseen frog in afternoon song running thread-
bare from morning, elusive voice cold on the water,
what will become of us all?

The grass is a sudden cloth of evening,
wind isn't wind, nothing strains, not even
beetles rolling night under small dark shells.

Geese Bless Our Union

by Michael Kay

On the first Saturday in February 2001, one week before our wedding, my fiancé and I went to the Garden to conduct our private ceremony. It was a misty morning with visibility about 50 feet. After we went through the main gate, a flock of Canada Geese came down out of the mist, flew over our heads, and disappeared into the mist. We made our way to the Meditation Hut near the Zen Garden. There, we meditated and each wrote a Haiku before sharing our love and hopes for our marriage. We both found a spiritual message from the geese knowing that they mate for life.

Sabina:
Geese fly--mates for life
Announcing our arrival.
Love soars, We are one.

Michael:
In the eerie mist
Two lovers marry for life.
Geese Bless their union.

We departed the garden with our spirits soaring with the geese.

My Japan

by Michelle Kottwitz

Several years before I became a member of the Japanese Garden, I grew a passion for the traditional Japanese Kimono. Then when I first purchased a membership about 2 years ago, I found a truly comfortable place for me to wear the clothing that I loved. In the beginning when I would wear my kimono and visit the garden, I found it amusing that other guests thought I worked there. With the many times I have visited the place myself, I found I was able to answer their questions easily even without being a volunteer. Questions and picture requests have now have become a common occurrence whenever I visit. And to this day, I feel strange and out of place when I visit and wear western clothing. Even though I have never been to Japan, the Japanese Garden has become my own personal Japan.

Winter

by Nina Fleckenstein

Silent Winter Sun
Kissing A Frosted Landscape
Peaceful Heart, Mind, Soul

Touched by a living jewel

by Petra Gilbert

Summer walk on bridge
Koi follows me, lifts head up
Thrilled, I stroke it

It was summer in the Japanese Garden. I walked on the water bridge marveling at the jewel-like Koi flashing in the sun. One noticeably followed me as I went along.

I knelt down to see this spectacular fish up close. It approached me. I put my hand down toward the water; its glistening head surfaced and touched me. I gently caressed it for a moment, overjoyed by the remarkable connection. It was a fairy-tale in the garden.

True Serenity

by Thomas Wier

From the moment I stepped through the gates of the Japanese Gardens, I found peace; there are very few places that I might refer to in a spiritual sense, as I tend to be more private than some when it comes to finding my focus. That I can overcome this obstacle with ease at the Garden is a testament to its beauty, design, and healing properties.

As a child, I remember seeing pictures of a small village near the base of Fuji-yama and the simple yet intricate gardens therein. I could almost hear the shakuhachi music through the photos. That, I believed, was real tranquility.

To me, the Garden reflects that same purity of nature and our relationship with it; the delicate harmony between the two. On display are all of our finer qualities as a species, and allows for true introspection and inner peace. All seeking focus should visit.

Serenity is found

by Tracy Smith

Daily life takes on a life of its own & staying close is an effort. On a visit to Portland my son told me he had someplace special to take me, to the Portland Japanese Garden. As I walked in I remember taking a deep breath & sighing at the realization that we were going to get time to reconnect. Space to bond, us & the elements, mother & son. We indeed reconnected. After breath taking pictures we left renewed & secure in our new roles with each other. The garden has become our place. We always make our way there. Thank you for providing this special place, this haven that means so much.

Winter in the Garden

by Shana Weeks

It is snowing in the Garden, its bones brown against evergreens and a gentle sky. I feel the nameless spirit of this land deep in my heart. I remember a garden in Tokyo twenty years ago on a crisp winter day, the smell of food floating in the air. I search our Garden with wonder, looking for the tiny buds promising Spring. I remember the peonies of Tokyo, each with its own shelter, amid the kimono-clad women and the artists perched on tiny stools, capturing the fleeting beauty of flowers. I seek the spirit of Professor Tono and all the others who imagined into existence a place of such beauty and magic. I think of my husband, gone from me, but somehow closer here. I slip through the Garden, hoping the Jizo will look after me on my journey, hoping to leave a little of my spirit here.