Wild Rose

The wild rose springs up among weeds. Does it feel guilty about its fragrance? Please friend, never let anyone make you feel guilty about being happy in this troubled world. To be troubled is the nature of the world. To be happy is the nature of your heart - not a privilege but a birthright. Your happiness costs the world nothing, is not extravagant, exploits no one's labor, wastes no energy. Yet its blossoming can heal the air, the water, the soil.

Joy does not come from this world, yet it suffuses the world with a secret light, and touches other hearts. The breath you give is the breath you receive is the breath that whispered this planet into whirling atoms, blew spirals of night into galaxies like glass, spindled out the flesh of your ancestors in helixes still dancing in the hieroglyphs of your sacred body.

We were all connected by a dark sigh before we had names, our lungs the very bellows of the Maker. Don't waste a single exhalation complaining about this world. Choose beauty. The gift will not appear until you are grateful. Under the snow, seeds listen. Are you singing to them? Why not?

The softer your voice of praise, the more they reach up, unfurl their ruby cups of thirst, their golden cups of yearning. This is the secret: creation happens quietly. Stillness swirls from inside out. You could be the cause of Spring.


Photo by Kristy Thompson