The Solitary Flower
The sage stopped at the top of the hill and looked out at the expanse
Violet blossoms as far as the eye could see
So beautiful to behold, thought the sage
Then he continued to walk the small dirt path
Each step was deliberate.
“Every step counts,” the sage whispered
“Always know where you are going.”
He got to the seven trees
He looked up at them
They reached the heavens
Their branches stretched out in every direction
“It is good to be well rooted,” thought the sage
“Strive to be well planted, for your nourishment comes from the deep,” He reminded himself
And on he kept going.
Up ahead there was a small water hole and with it a water fall
The sage removed his robe and entered the cold refreshing liquid
His senses came alive. He stood under the fall
“Water cleanses the body,” He said to himself
“Truth is the water that purifies the soul. Therefore, let it wash you,” He stated.
He dried off. Put on his robe, and continued onward
He had arrived at the base of a huge precipice.
He squinted as he looked up, and behold, a colony of eagles
They flew high above the precipice, and then dove in pairs, nose first, straight down
Just before impact, they curved their bodies and glided out effortlessly
“Be like minded with your fellow man,” He mused.
“Keep one another sharp.” He reflected.
And he continued.
The sage reached the Plague of Stones.
There nothing grows for only hardened bedrock covered the area.
He saw something… the faintest of color out in the midst of the stone ground
He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a solitary blossom, bending back and forth in the gentle breeze.
He reached this lonely blossom, and asked it’s name.
“I am The Will To Live,” answered the flower.
“Tell me your story, Will-To-Live,” The sage said.
“I once lived amongst the myriad of violet blossoms,” started the little flower
“But I didn’t grow in the clusters. For some reason I sprung up just outside of all the others,” continued the violet.
“But I grow where I’m planted,” she said.
“One day a terrible storm came and all the other blossoms were able to hold onto one another and remain fixed in the ground until the storm passed. I had no one to hold on to,” she said with a whisper.
“My little flower, do go on and tell all,” encouraged the sage.
“The rain beat down and loosen the soil around me, the wind ripped me out of my place and this is where I landed.” She said.
“My, Will-to-Live,” replied the sage, “That must have been hard on you.” He said with a compassion the flower felt.
She perked up and stated, “Oh, it was hard on me. I was thirsty but the stones held no water. I was pulled from my roots but had no soil to cleave to,” she went on to say. There was no shade to protect my petals from the blazing sun rays.” She said.
“You poor thing,” said the sage.
“Oh, no wise sir,” she quickly replied. “I was Weak and Frail before the storm. I nearly lost my life. I was cut off from all I’ve ever known. But please do not feel pity on me. This was all I had, the rock around me. My roots cleaved to the stone and went down, and i the recesses of the stones was a small reserve of water left over from the rain. I was careful to only soak in what I needed, not what I wanted. And the sun made me tough. I am no longer weak and frail. I learned quickly that I had to work with what I got.” Explained the blossom.
“I had to grow where I was planted.” She said with conviction.
The sage just stood there amazed. He thanked the little blossom and went on his way home.
That night he had a dream. In the dream he was a child again, and he was displaced from his home and his parents due to a war. He had no one to raise him, and he saw that everyone had their own burden to bare. So he survived but it was hard, and lonely. He went was sad and walked for what seemed forever, and wound up at a forest. He made his home in the crags of some rocks and learned to hunt and fish. He woke up from the dream and reflected on it. He too, was uprooted from the ground of his home and family and blown away with the wind. He too had no comforts to help soften the blows that life dealt him. That dream was an account of his own past. He had to go back to the flower.
He put on his robe, and splashed water on his face, took his walking stick and went to go see the flower. When he got there the flower was gone. The sage cried. He must have sat there for a couple of hours feeling as though the poor flower got a raw deal. He went home.
That night the sage had another dream. In the dream was that very blossom. It had dried up and fell apart. He woke up sad. He went out to the stoney place where the flower once stood, and to his surprise, he saw a splash of color in the center of the rocky place. His didn’t understand what he was seeing. He headed toward this color patch in the midst of bedrock. When he reached it, to his amazement, it was a patch of baby violets growing in the stones, in the very place where the “Will-to-Live” once stood. He beheld their simple yet beautiful existence.
“Hello.” The cluster of flowers chimed. “We grow where we’re planted,” they said in unison. The sage bowed before the group and went home.
That night he looked over his life. It was a road of hard lessons and survival. He often was lonely, and missed his mom and dad. But he had didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He simply had to focus on living in the moment. His rocky road of surviving against the odds taught him that he could get bitter or better. He learned how to talk with nature. He learned to be a friend to himself. And because he had a will to live he remained open to the lessons his life presented. He wouldn’t change a thing today. He too had grown where he was planted.
The End
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