The Opening of a Flower.

I got lost once, for what felt like a million years,
In the opening of a hibiscus flower.

Sitting beneath a Forest Red Gum tree,
I gently held it by the stem,
Still tightly held as a bud.

I began to notice the beauty of its pink and scarlet hues, 
I could sense its femininity, 
But also a tension. 
The holding of potential.

As I gently admired it, 
Something remarkable occurred. 
It began to bloom.

I marvelled as each petal slowly and gracefully unfurled. 
It felt as though it was responding to the warmth of my gaze, 
The more beauty I noticed,
the more beauty revealed itself.

The beauty seemed infinite, 
Intricate arteries pulsed with life, 
Each petal revealed a new surprising depth of vibrancy and colour, 
A perfect interplay of softness and form. 
The seamless way one colour became another.

It felt to me that when I willed it to open more, 
It would stall in its process, 
But when I simply held it in admiration, 
It would open and flourish more freely.

When one particular petal unfurled closer to the centre, 
it exposed a slightly irregular petal beneath.

I reflected on how I, too, can halt my own process of opening
through fear of offering to the light
the parts of myself I have judged as different
from the other flowers in the garden.

How some of my innermost layers remain in the dark, 
shadowed beneath the petals I hold closed.

Now fully open. I was mesmerised. Its fragrance perfumed the air. It glistened with nectar as I softly turned it beneath the sun. It was seductive, abundant and hypnotic.

I rose to my feet, still enraptured,
And walked back toward the meditation gardens of the retreat centre.

A fellow participant appeared beside me.
He was drawn in by the beauty.

“Wow," he said, “that’s such a beautiful flower.”

I felt protective at first.
I looked down to his left hand.

Drooping beside him was his flower bud, 
Unseen, unopened, unloved.

“May I hold it?” he asked.

I felt challenged, but there was a deeper knowing:

Her beauty was not mine to own.

Sometimes, the hardest lesson of love
Is letting go.

I handed it over to him,
And walked on.
I felt grateful.

Sometime later, 
As I sat quietly in the gardens, 
I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Here’s your flower, thank you.

She had returned to me, 
She was older, 
I gently held her again in my gaze 
As I became re-acquainted.

I noticed that her once firm and bright petals 
Had now softened and wrinkled, 
I smiled in awe at what I saw,

Because in no way had her beauty diminished, 
It had deepened.

She held all of the original beauty of her form,
Now enriched by the story of her journey.

She was magnificent.

As the sun began to set, 
I continued to sit quietly with her.

She began to slowly twirl and curl back in around herself, 
A beautiful closing dance, 
In the unique and colourful ballet of her life.

In the kind dusk light, 
I lay her carefully down in a quiet corner of the grass.

And I thanked her.

For in the opening of her petals,

She had opened my heart.

Until next time,
Peace and love,
Alex