Once long ago I dreamed of a flower that could speak.
Strange it was.
I knew not to speak of it to anyone.
I would be thought odd.
Crazy.
Insane.
Yet the flower did speak.
What it said was of William Blake and the poets of old.
It spoke of natural beauty, easy being, quiet life.
No effort.
No strain.
It grew and blossomed naturally, easily, without fuss or strain or worry or doubt.
I would look at the flower and wonder what else it had to say.
Perhaps if we all looked at every thing living, and waited, it would all speak.
Flowers.
Trees.
Birds.
Butterflies.
Clouds.
Rocks.
Rain.
Sun.
It all held wisdom, simplicity, truth.
All we had to do was watch and wait, listen and hear.
One day I decided to test this theory.
I looked at an insect walking on the ground outside, going where only it knew.
It stopped.
It may have felt my stare.
I looked.
I waited.
And the insect seemed to convey a truth.
Working wasn't work to it.
It was simply doing what was natural for him/her to do.
No complaining of low pay or bad hours or boring repetitious activity.
It was an insect.
It worked and lived as an insect.
I felt the knowing of a mind without commentary.
Just do your thing.
If you are a writer, then write.
If you are a baker, then bake.
If you are a pilot, then fly.
All the second guessing and wondering why simply gummed up the process if not actually stopped it.
And so the flower spoke.
But as I listened, I heard the world awaken.
Was it just me?
Or do you hear it too?
Ao Akua,Dr. Joe
PS - Reminder:
It spoke of natural beauty, easy being, quiet life. No effort. No strain. It grew and blossomed naturally, easily, without fuss or strain or worry or doubt. I would look at the flower and wonder what else it had to say. Perhaps if we all looked at every thing living, and waited, it would all speak. Flowers. Trees. Birds. Butterflies. Clouds. Rocks. Rain. Sun. It all held wisdom, simplicity, truth.
All we had to do was watch and wait, listen and hear. One day I decided to test this theory. I looked at an insect walking on the ground outside, going where only it knew. It stopped. It may have felt my stare. I looked. I waited. And the insect seemed to convey a truth. Working wasn't work to it. It was simply doing what was natural for him/her to do. No complaining of low pay or bad hours or boring repetitious activity. It was an insect. It worked and lived as an insect. I felt the knowing of a mind without commentary.
Just do your thing. If you are a writer, then write. If you are a baker, then bake. If you are a pilot, then fly. All the second guessing and wondering why simply gummed up the process if not actually stopped it. And so the flower spoke. But as I listened, I heard the world awaken. Was it just me? Or do you hear it too? Ao Akua, Dr. Joe PS - Reminder:
