I had trouble thinking of what to post for today. Eventually I started thinking about random objects and the first image that popped into my head was a flower. So I’m going to use flowers as an inspiration for today’s post.
When I was a child, I remember not feeling anything towards flowers. Like lots of children, I sometimes ripped flowers apart out of boredom. If someone said “Look at those beautiful flowers!”, I often didn’t feel anything. I agreed with them just so they would stop bothering me.
Growing up, my parents always bought copious amounts of flowers around Easter time. They brought them inside the house and put them in our living room. Every time I walked into the room, the overpowering smell of flowers filled my nose and gave me a headache. I was always happy to see them being planted outside in the weeks after Easter.
At some point, my perspective started to shift. I can’t even tell you how this happened. In adulthood, I started to cultivate a healthy respect for flowers. I made a conscious effort not to hurt them. I felt sad if I accidentally hurt one or stepped on one. I still don’t see the physical beauty of flowers. However, you will never see me intentionally hurting a flower.
We all live such short lives, yet look at how beautiful we all have the potential to become. At some point, we may question if our efforts are making a difference or if our lives have meaning.
The answer is always yes. We all go though many journeys in life. Through each one, we grow and reach towards that which we are meant to be.
No dream is out of reach. Regardless of how much we struggle, we can achieve what we love.
Every one of us is beautiful, regardless of how ugly we may think ourselves to be. Don’t ever surrender your power to others.
Today’s end of post poem is inspired by this post:
The threads of life
Each endless in their weaving
Speak about the past
Empty and never grieving
But bear witness
To the birth of bright beginnings
Holistic and rare
It takes a special kind of care
Befitting of a newfound king
Feed your eyes
to this blessed grace
Rooted in place
In this timeless space
You claim to be free
What are you meant to be?
A brief murmur of hope?
Or another method to cope?
And yet nature breathes
An erotic tendency?
Or is it just a way to be?
Is this what we see?
When the mind isn’t free?