Here is Home, the Wild Home

Conversation of the flowers.

20th, October, 2024

I have been too much with people and not enough with the tree. All chatter and busyness. Functions and food and fuss. And all the time, there is the tree in front of my house, in front of my room, in front of my window, in front of my eyes, blooming and beautiful, quiet and steady, independent and interdependent, harmonised. It was with relief that I was drawn to her this morning. I took incense, water and jyoti.

The jyoti burns on, I see it now, moving in the breeze, happy amongst the flowers, little clay deepak from India, sacred light burning on.

The ground is losing its chill. I went to the tree, and held her flowers to my face, burying my nose, eyes, mouth, appearance in the petals. I caressed them and stroked her twigs and branches – how precious you are, how divine is your expression. I touched all the other flowers that grow at her base, the abundance of leaf and petal and pollen that surround her. A wild breeze is blowing, and her petals drift down and around like confetti.

Here is home, the wild home.