Poppy

Bud in the heart ... and in the flower ...
where in every moment her love is a shower
of blessings that guide us and share in the night
the wisdom of peace over power of might
and so is the little one growing in height
receiving the blessing of full moon's cool light.
See the bud opening from sleeping in white,
so tiny and faithful, a golden delight.


     Clear and sweet is the message of the flower bud, awaiting its turn to shine yet already drawing to it the butterflies and hummingbirds, all hovering to find out who she will be and what gifts she brings into their world. Their glorious colors mingle with hers ... she is darker at first, contracted, arms wrapped around herself, also waiting in this moment yet already knowing her purpose that rises upon the wind, her scent going out, seeking and showing.
     She allows the food she needs to flow gently into her roots and leaves but she doesn't have to do anything except open to the bounty all around for she has adapted and what others see as scarcity, she sees as opportunity and a serene wisdom in knowing now is her time. Now is her moment in the sun before the long sleep of the cycles that continue, repeating themselves within the illusion of form that is cherished.

     I open a random book and read " ... your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this world into sweetness ... "

     There is a mesmerizing appeal to reading Rabindranath Tagore (the quote is from The Fugitive). His words flow like poetry yet their rhythm is that of prose holding itself proud and tall upon the stems of Divine flowers, second to none and absent the rigid affectations of some poems that spit in short, concise stutters upon the page as if they fear saying too much and expect us to glean their hidden intent by digging without the proper tools (I love poetry but some definitely has this effect upon me). But Tagore's writing ... what a glorious feeling to watch the shapes of the words and sentences bend in an arc that covers the pages like a rainbow, the imagery heart-felt. It is as if Tagore knew the intimacy of the Sacred World and the Divine Source as One and merely opened himself to their harmony.

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I remain devoted to the lovely Arizona Poppy and her sweetness. :-)