|
dafremen
|
As you pass through the garden, brothers and sisters, take some time to notice the flowers there. Though scarred and thorny from the events of their passage, still a kind word tweaks the blooms and softens the leaves.
In this world, thorns, nettle sting, woody bark and a strong presentation are the tools of survival, but the gardener has planted no weeds here. There are only flowers, of the most delicate variety imaginable which are not as they seem.
Speak softly in the garden. Speak softly with forgiveness, empathy and sincere caring for those that grow here.
It is not just the skin of other flowers that can grow tough and insensitive, but your own as well; buffeted about and scarred by the tempest of defense and reaction.
See that knotted branch? Tough skin? Stinging leaves? They are an ugliness, come not from the plants which bear them, but from the world in which they have grown. They are defense mechanisms developed against illusory harms.
Weeds survive the harshness of their surroundings, often at the cost of being inhospitable and unattractive. The gardener comes expecting not weeds but flowers, and sees unfailingly through the illusions of the garden to the heart of each plant.
Weeds may survive the harshness of the material world, they may overcome the trials set to them by this garden, save one:
The gardener comes to gather the flowers, leaving the "weeds" until winter comes, dries them up and blows them away.
Truly THIS is the survival of the fittest, which the so-called fittest shall not survive. To walk gently, to care truly, to tend to and be tended to, watering the flowers, disregarding the weeds. (Well, actually, flowers that choose to act like weeds. The gardener didn't plant any weeds here.)
|
050128
|
