Being “Different”
Once upon a time we infused Essence into form. From Essence beyond any world, we became particularized aspects of Source’s great waves. Particle after particle we gather experience. Is it enough? Is it time to be a wave again?
What time? Whose time? Was/is there time? Contemplating this choice is interesting. Does a rose think and plan its new batch of blossoms? What choices might cause the effect of loveliness supported by thorns? What might happen if another choice was made? The saying goes, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Would another form be as exquisite? When we step outside the box of the science called Biology for a moment, many flows of life are set free. What is biology if not a manifestation of Source? What is Nature if not that?
Has this thing called Science aided us? Certainly. Have we allowed it too much sway? Perhaps. More boxes. More labels. More ways to appear unique and special, or somehow unwanted.
Is not every cherry blossom, every snowflake, perfect in its own right? We have these sayings, and we do act them out. What happens when all forms morph at once?
Once upon a time, there was global shifting. Nature reasserted her Presence, and a world was changed. Fractals of elemental magnificence, her children shifted with her, morphing again and again until they no longer recognized who or what they had ever been. Aligned with transcendence, held in Great Mother’s embrace, these little ones streamed along cosmic currents of Grace. “What happens next?” the children squealed, waiting with bated breath for the magical story to continue. “No one knows, as everything flows,” was Source’s response.
We don’t need to know. For those with pure hearts and eager ears, Gaia’s whispers permeate this world, barely audible beneath the roaring of reality-changing waves.
Pared down, threshed and shaken, crystal fragments of a greater whole, our prismatic radiance glows purely, as dew upon a newly opened rose. Is each bud not a gift? Is each drop of moisture not precious? We may retain our preferences, but is one color, one form, more or less than splendidly divine?
Where do we find beauty? What is beautiful to each of us? How do we hear the voice of the Divine in our bodies and lives? When we stop listening, why do we do so? Is each of our hearts not an exquisite portal, waiting to open and expand?
“To me, love isn't all. I must look up, not down, trust and honor with my whole heart, and find strength and integrity to lean on…”
― Louisa May Alcott, Rose in Bloom
What if it is our differences that show us how to love? Are we not all learning how to bloom?
