The Spirit does everything for love. It’s like a turbulent wind – a Pentecostal wind – blowing outside a garden wall. Outside, around, beneath, above. I ask which matters more in the garden: the flower which transfixes my gaze or the fruit and seed with the flavor and future they contain? You might say – rather easily – all of them: they’re all equally important. Yes, but the flower has eternity in it – I can’t shake that idea out of my mind. It lives outside of purposes and usefulness, as some things have to do. Will the Spirit understand this, when I leave the garden, when the time comes for me to go outside?
Or do I misunderstand life as a lesson to be learned? Is it truly for progress, for evolution, for taking us further? For purposes? What if the flower that transfixes my gaze is the very thing I am meant to learn? After all, in the time it takes to stroll across the garden from one wall to the other, flowers fade and wither, fruit and seed fall into the earth and die in order to be born again and light changes a thousand times or more. And all the time the wind is blowing outside. What will I take with me if not the eternal light of the flower? To know that life is change and growth might be a lesson but it won’t encourage you to hurry back.
I’m not talking about something facile like living for beauty, or art for art’s sake. I can only understand it that the flower in the garden which transfixes my gaze represents Love and is the single thing which Spirit would save for humanity. Walls, changes, cycles of evolution will all fade and disappear but the beauty of the flower will not.
Is this flower the beginning or the end
of the plant’s ambition? Fruit and flavor,
seed and progeny seem more purposeful
but the flower is the child of eternity.
And still that pentecostal wind is there
beyond my garden wall. I’d bathe in it,
debate with it, deliberate its cause
and mine. So if the garden wall should fall
will its flowers continue climbing? Will I?
Can Spirit halve the emptiness we feel
when flowers have left their image in our mind
while seed and fruit raise questions to the lips?
The wind might lift the fence from its sockets
and tease the garden wall with fresh outsides.
But where does Spirit go, where come from? Here?
Inside? I have in me a true garden
of soulful expressions: hurt, for myself,
anxiety for others – weaknesses?
So should I cultivate my plants instead
for medicines and discard useless beauty?
There’s nothing weak in pain or injury
and yet this wind which understands no sides
will wrap round ancient qualities with light
and save a flower for nothing more than love.
So is a garden with a wall my life?
And do I tend its flowers right up to death?
Or does the Spirit – a turbulent wind -
envelop what I’ve planted without loss?
I know, as you do and others will too,
that in the stroll from one wall to the next
the light will change a thousand times or more,
flowers will fade, fruit and seed die to be born,
and memories disturb their tangling roots.
Which part is useless? If any then all.
And where is Spirit going to find itself
if not in the cherished small flowers I’ve laid?
Best wishes, today,
©Jay Landar 2013. All rights reserved
You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source: Author: Jay Landar. Source: www.lightonthepage.com. For other permissions please contact the author.