Seeing beauty in a flower could awaken humans, however briefly, to the beauty that is an essential part of their own innermost being, their true nature … Flowers would become for us an expression in form of that which is most high, most sacred, and ultimately formless within ourselves. Flowers, more fleeting, more ethereal, and more delicate than the plants out of which they emerged, would become like messengers from another realm, like a bridge between the world of physical forms and the formless. They not only had a scent that was delicate and pleasing to humans, but also brought a fragrance from the realm of spirit.
So well said.
A lovely pink orchid sits on the computer desk facing Jody’s bed. Its stem arches in a question mark and the blossom bows to the earth. It’s a blossom whose time is nearly done but it has given us joy for months. Soon it will fall, in its own time.
In the mountains of long ago, three flowers beckoned me. When I arrived in Waterton Lakes National Park each June, the meadows glistened with beargrass. Tall stalks supported a glorious head of countless tiny white flowers. They waved in the wind, greeting me as I emerged from the woods.
In Rowe Meadow, as the snows receded, glacier lilies popped through the drifts. Like Jody’s lily, these precious yellow beings lowered their petals toward the ground.
Later in the summer, on the ridge of Mount Lineham, I found tiny clumps of alpine forget-me-nots. Only a couple of inches high, these blue ones beckoned me to kneel down and gaze into the centre of it all … some hearts of yellow, some pink.
Now, as winter approaches, blooms are still with me. I have a program called “Flower” on my PlayStation 3. Closed buds open graciously as I swoop the controller low over the land. And I am happy.