And then all of a sudden, things change. I passed by the place where the crocuses were pushing up and somewhat bedraggled. Right next to them these brilliant little purple flowers had popped up, fresh and full of vitality. Passing snowstorms notwithstanding, they are courageously taking their stand. There is a lesson here.

Plants are full of energy and certainly respond to their environment, our loving attention and certain vibrations. However, I don’t think they are distracted by memories, passing emotions or feelings of inadequacy. They are unmoved, perhaps in a very Buddhic way, by all but their firm dedication to their purpose. Although perhaps not as purposeful, it reminds me of this tale titled “Maybe.”

There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically. “Maybe,” the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed.
“Maybe,” replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. “Maybe,” answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. “Maybe,” said the farmer.

The farmer is not indifferent, and at least in my imagination, remains aware that he is in reality the creator his life. He is also keenly aware, or should we be so, that we are participating with the universe/God/the angels and that intercession/detour/distraction is part of the game. Sometimes the wind blows east, sometimes west. Can we remain unmoved, centered and peacefully secure ‘under our own vine and fig tree’?

I’m delighted, or perhaps amazed, that I am receiving these unspoken messages from these little flowers, whose name I don’t even know. The movements of spring are fearless in the face of it all. Lesson learned.