A Flower

Have you ever considered the flower? It doesn’t live long, but while it does, it displays itself so beautifully.

It doesn’t conce
itself with tomorrow, or yesterday; only this one precious moment is important as it unfolds its petals. It positions itself so that it doesn’t crowd the other flowers; they all find their place in the field, quietly growing in silence and peace.

A flower requires rain, but doesn’t hoard the rain it receives; the rain is allowed to fall equally on all the flowers of the field. It trusts that enough rain will come, and if it doesn’t, the flower rests its fate with all the other flowers.

A flower feels neither hate nor love of its neighbors, only peaceful coexistence, as if the flower is not important enough to even cast judgments such as love or hate. It sees itself as not very significant in the grand scope of things, and perhaps this is why it is so beautiful. Its exuberance is that of an innocent child in the universe, full of hope and trust, unaware even of itself, yet knowing somehow that it can never die. The fields will always be arrayed with beautiful flowers.

I won’t live long, either, considering how fast a lifetime speeds by . . . and I notice the flowers more often now. Who knows, perhaps the time I have left on this earth will be counted in months rather than years . . . and I only wish that I could display myself as beautifully as a flower with what time I have left. Too much of my time has been spent saving up the rain, which I no longer need. My goals in life have been superficial.

The simple, beautiful thing that a flower does so naturally, growing toward the light, I should have done, but I grew toward other things that caught my eye. I wasn’t still enough to notice flowers back then; all I could see was myself. I had so many chances to display myself beautifully, but instead I surrendered to my fears, and greedily pushed others aside as I climbed over them to get the best spot in the field.

But with the time I have left, I will forgo the mindless pursuits of my youth and study the lowly, exalted flower. I will discover its secret, and I will learn to grow toward the light as it does. I will find out how to display myself beautifully so that whomever I encounter, they will go away feeling better than before.

I will dedicate myself to truth, no longer greedy or fearful, or thinking that I am special. I will trust that the rain will fall, and that the light will help me grow.

And I will reach beyond my small self that keeps me so ugly and out of step with the vast meadow of life, a vast field of constant renewal that I am beginning to see with new eyes. I will no longer hate the other flowers; how could I now?

This morning, I walked through my garden as usual, but the sunlight on the flowers was different, so extraordinarily brilliant. And suddenly, I realized that the sun was falling on me too. All I had to do was accept its warmth, and accept all things that may come along. And trust . . .