In a quiet forest glade where emerald light filtered through the foliage of graceful boughs and the air was still and silent but for the distant drone of bees, there grew a flower called the flower of life.
Few ventured as far this clearing, but those who did were touched by its magic.
One imagined the Ancients must have roamed here. The air was heavy with awe and wonder. It seeped into the soul and cleaved hearts open with the rich fullness of presence.
None who wandered here left the same person they were when they came. Softened by their encounter with the sacred presence of Nature they went back into the world purer of heart; carrying the silence of the glade deep within their being.
The flower of life stood in the center of the clearing.
She was said to be a mirror through which one could look upon the world.
To look on her was to look on beauty.
Amidst the cool green of the ferns and the dark undergrowth, she rose with a singular grace; each of her petals shimmering in a unique and lustrous color.
Crimson, emerald, sapphire, violet, apricot, amber, citron, rose, white, black, silver, gold. All of these colors and more. Each petal its own distinct color, coming together in a harmonious whole.
As she absorbed the emerald light that reached down through the trees the flower of life shone in a exquisite kaleidoscope of vibrant color, each hue enriching the others as she danced and swayed in the slight breeze that gently whispered to her.
Her beauty was sonorous, calling the light to her.
And as she absorbed the light she became still more beautiful.
The light wasn’t the only thing which responded to her resonant call.
Honey bees drunk on her goodness weaved about her gracefully. Hummingbirds and butterflies with iridescent wings flocked here and frolicked too, for her nectar was sweet and tender, a joy to all.
The morning dew loved to linger on her unfurling petals, and even the breeze seemed to slow its step so it could dance with her a while.
And in the midst of all this richness and diversity of color, the flower of life bloomed in an everlasting celebration of the richness and diversity of life.
the violet and indigo petals got together and decided they didn’t like the sapphire petal.
There was no particular reason. Maybe they were jealous that the darting dragonflies appeared to alight on her more, seemingly preferring her radiance to their own.
Maybe they were simply locked in their fear of this color that was – to them – unknown.
Whatever their reasons, bit by bit they staved off her nutrition.
The sapphire petal, denied of her source of vitality, valiantly tried to continue to shine, to contribute her unique beauty to the magnificence of the whole. But cut off from her source of nutrition, it wasn’t long before the glistening sapphire petal slowly faded to a washed-out cornflower blue.
As more time passed she drooped and listed…
Finally, she fell to the ground.
It was a sad moment for the flower of life.
Not only had she lost one of her petals, but a darkness that wasn’t present before now imbued the violet and indigo petals, changing the way they refracted the light.
The intensity of her radiance had diminished a little. But still she shone brightly and the winged creatures continued to come, to drink deeply of her pure nectar and absorb her beautiful light.
Unfortunately, the tinge of darkness wasn’t content with being a tinge. It saw for itself a bigger future. In an effort to tarnish the radiance of the flower, it emanated spots of darkness that fell on the gold petal with its head upturned to receive the light.
The darkness encountered the light, and – for the moment – the darkness won.
The gold petal decided that it didn’t like the silver petal.
Saturated with superiority, it could no longer see her beauty as anything other than inferior to its own.
In a story that has told itself over and over again since time begun, the gold petal began to assert her dominion and power. She cruelly cut off the nutrition to the silver petal.
Before long the flower of life mourned the loss of another of her petals.
And how she mourned.
Now it was the apricot petal’s turn to devour the darkness and make it her own.
“If I absorb the radiance of the crimson, amber, citron and rose petals and assimilate them, I’ll be a match for the brilliance of the violet, gold and indigo petals,” she reasoned. “Then will I shine in splendor. The vividness of my color will capture the eyes and hearts of all.”
And so she began her own story of supremacy, drawing the essence of the other colors in to enrich her own.
In the process she acquired more of the darkness; for she was motivated by selfish gain, instead of a wish to shine brightly so she could contribute to and enhance the brilliance of the whole.
And as the crimson, amber, citron and rose petals all lent their radiance to the apricot petal, they lost their own. The flower of life was left a shadow of the flower she was before.
And how she mourned.
The birds, bees and butterflies stopped coming to visit, for they couldn’t stand the conflict and fighting.
Besides, the tinge of darkness that suffused so many of the petals had turned the nectar sour.
The flower grieved.
And then she grieved some more.
She missed the winged creatures who drank of her goodness and delighted her with their pranks and quirks and beauty.
She missed the gentle whir of their wings, and the way the air they generated fanned her petals, making them dance with unbridled joy.
She missed the radiance of her own beauty, its brilliant kaleidoscope of colors.
She missed the refraction of light as it spun its magic across her many-hued petals.
She missed her long, eloquent conversations with the dew that lingered in the mornings.
She missed cavorting with the wind on long and languid summer evenings.
She missed knowing herself as having value, contributing to the world with the sweetness of her nectar, with her beauty that uplifted all.
She missed the sense of knowing who she was, and of having purpose.
In her sadness she began to droop and wither.
Her life-force felt stilted.
She no longer knew who or what she was living for.
One by one her remaining petals fell to the ground.
Hours turned into days and they were chased away by the wind.
Finally, the flower’s stalk, too, was blown away.
All that remained of her was unseen and unknown.
The flower still grieved, taking her pain with her into the ground where she lay dormant.
Mother Earth cradled her in her arms, and tried to nurture her back to wholeness.
Weeks and months passed and the rain washed away the pain and the grief.
At times the rain ran in rivulets so deep they cleansed even the memories of pain.
And one day the wind blew away the last remnants of darkness, and the emerald light poured its goodness into the clearing again.
Restorative light which warmed the earth and extended its reach down to the the seed of the flower, who felt the life begin to stir in her anew.
After some days had passed she tentatively pushed a young, green shoot above surface.
It quivered in the wind, drunk deeply of the rain, basked in the sun; it loved it all.
It reached up to the emerald light, gaining ground every day.
The flower of life felt the joy in it all. Felt a deep urge to burst forth in flower again.
In her joy, she found courage.
From her stalk emerged a single petal.
A single petal that contained all the hues of the ones before.
The different colors merged together so you couldn’t tell where one ended and the next one began; their existence inextricably bound together.
Each one resplendent in its own beauty, each made more magnificent in its synergy with the whole.
A single petal of iridescent light.