The wisteria vine in my back yard is blooming its purple flowers, the real story of rebirth and resurrection— and not a single war has been fought in its name. The resurrection of Jesus, the enlightenment of Buddha, the revelation of Moses and the burning bush, are all stories to remind us of nature’s decay and growth, birth and death. From the microcosm of each inhale a birth, each exhale a death, to the grand moments of emerging as an embodied being and departing leaving this body behind, we are constantly living the cycle of growth and decay. The more consciously we can do this, the more we can awake into each day as a glorious possibility and turn to sleep each night with the contented exhale of life well-lived— well, it seems to me we will have done the very thing a human birth makes possible.
When we squander our time, get hung up in the which story is more true, get seduced into a faith that justifies us killing others who don’t think the same way, well, we simply have wasted our human possibility and might end up frying in hell or being reborn as a mosquito or simply extinguishing our light wondering what it was all about.
And so the wisteria and the cherry trees and the tulips and the wildflowers are here to remind us— jump up on the cycle and ride its full length, each stage with its own beauties and gifts. But maybe a little bias toward Spring, that moment of life bursting anew all around us, of the dark winter of our souls beginning to open and smile and bloom and give color again, attracting the birds and the bees—literally and metaphorically speaking, if you catch my drift!
Maybe with the churches and temples and synagogues closed, folks might return to the most ancient and true and least harmful religion— the blooming bounty out their door. But being the weird flawed creatures we are, someone would probably found the Church of Wisterianism, start creating dogma, asking for donations and fight against the Rosecrucians or the Daffodillites.
Don’t do it!