We are all much like flowers in the dark of night, awaiting the arrival of the sun, beneath natural forces, yet of it all.
Soaking up hungrily, drinking giddily, what we can from what we’ve grown.
Rooted, we are no different from the earth beneath us.
We may raise our heads to worship above- the light!
And bow our heads, mainly in harsh weather, in prayer,
but there is no forgetting what sustains us, that below, that which sinks as we rise and forms us anew as we fall.
Of that around our bodies, those Others,
their energy radiates.
Connected we are, yet separate in space by rough, sometimes thorny stems and with leaf-limbs reaching out to the unknown.
And like flowers, our roots mingle and twist in the dark, undisturbed, yet often unspoken.
Unlike flowers, we dream of all we’re twisted up in in the quiet of night, desperately drinking from memory.
Aware of our waiting.
Awake in our remembering.
Trying our best to love what calls for us in the dark in the light of day.