Catastrophe

To the bud, blossoming is a catastrophe. Make friends with Chaos, just another word for Becoming. Nothing you can cling to is who you really are. The seed dies in a sprout. The stem holds up her tiny fist, which bursts into petals of ineffable fragrance. Pollen, nectar, honey, fruit. You have thousands of eyes. Soften your perception, the way a bee sees. Use your ommatidia. And if you cannot learn this from the body of Jesus, learn it from the breath of Spring.