Our garden is a little wild… most of our weeds are poppies and pansies, sunflowers and borage. The encroach upon the carrots and beans with impunity. We planted them there on purpose the first year, and since then, they have busted out in numbers, assuming the right to omnipresence. I feel ok about their eradication until I start to see them boldly revealing their exquisite faces… and then I am smitten, the heart swells, and I rationalize leaving this one, and that one …and perhaps the one over there. Vegetables blossom as well, equally engaging and dynamic. Some subtle and innocent, some brazen in their display.
I welcomed the simple strawberry blossom faces while I plucked the resulting fruit from vigorous green foliage and mused, awash in splendour in my garden fair… that were flowers just for bees and bugs to find and pollen to be moved about, all buds could have opened exactly alike. But no. Breathtaking beauty is intentional. It ought to stop us in our tracks and place us in a peaceful spot. It ought to make us pause. We ought to see it.
We live in a universe endlessly created, all of its components have beauty and design written all over them. It veritably screams in the vibrant colours of spring, summer and autumn, even the starkness of winter, that it was all on purpose. So many details. So much intention. Constant flow of soul refreshment that pays no court to humanly derived strata. Flowers don’t care who notices them, who drinks in their aroma or gazes at their sweet faces, they only bloom where they had place enough to take root.
Of late, they have become to me a mirror. You, they say, are loved. You are seen, you are given all you need to be sustained. Worry is an illusion. You are equally purposed in the known universe as I, embrace it. Your influence only dies if you pinch off your blossom. Let the rain come, see it for what it is. Take what the lightning brings in the storm. Accept the caress of the wind. Be healed in the sun. Be nurtured by the soil. When someone comes to dine at your table, give to them freely of the peace and joy you have… pollenate souls. Enjoy the shade of the taller plants, they make your bloom last longer.
The bloom, is never off the rose. Long after petals fall, the fruit remains. For a season it sleeps, and yet it springs forth again in dazzling display. So it is with all life, periods of rest, moments of silence, era of cultivation, pruning, and fertilization, and growth that feels, in the onset, painful. But beauty comes from this. And I am but a reflection. I am revealed in I am. All I need within, manifest without. Healed, not in the effort, but in the being. In the choosing to be awake. In the vibrancy of the moment revealed, this is my place, this is my moment. My potential and my engagement meeting in harmonious cooperative creative effort. A soul both rooted and free, irrevocably connected to the All in the I am. Uniquely breathtaking. If I refused to bloom, you would not stop and see. Your heart would not gain, in this moment, it’s peaceful spot. You would not see your own reflection in the face of this Being revealed.
We could have been designed for function only. And sadly, some believe we are. They search out purpose over pure being, and in so doing, worry themselves into undoing. How can the manifestation of the thoughts of Love itself be utilitarian in their existence? How can we not see the value in the exquisite face of each expression of the Divine?
Next time you extoll a flower for its pure expression of beauty, hear it reply with an open heart: As I am, you are, dear one… are you.