High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘mission’

They knew what they were in for.  The little crocuses learned about earth weather long before they took on form.

But that of course was mere theory.   And this snow was very real.

They wrapped their petals tight, giggling.  Little shivers of delight over their good fortune ran all the way down their stems.

Not every crocus got to face the snow.  The challenge, they knew, was immense.   They would have to hold fast to their vision and mission, to deny every dark shred of doubt.

No one thought it would be easy or that success was guaranteed.  But the adventure was its own reward.  And they would fly their hope flags to the end.

When the florist placed the little chrysanthemum into the bouquet and began wrapping red gossamer ribbon and sparkling tinsel around her, she could hardly believe her good fortune.

Never had she dreamed she would end up in such a beautiful bouquet.  It was like being in flower heaven.

She settled in with the roses, pine cones and greenery, and held her breath, wondering what would come next.

“Where are we going?  What is this for?  What should I do?” she whispered to the red rose beside her.

“Ours is a special mission,” the rose said.  “We were chosen as symbols of the love of the Great Yes and intended to express its beauty and joy. “

“Of course that is the purpose of everything that the Great Yes brings into being.  But we, dear child, are being sent to sing the song in celebration of the way that love touches human hearts.”

The little chrysanthemum was still for a moment as she absorbed the meaning of this honor.  “How can I do that?” she asked the rose.

“Just be yourself, child.  All of us are made from love.  Immerse yourself in its power and beauty; know that it shapes your every petal, and then let it flow from you in gladness.   Just be who you are.  Just be the love.”

As if descending from the stars, and bringing stars with them, the life pods fall, their broad wings outstretched.  Theirs is an ancient history and their magic is large.

Despite the harshness of the terrain that greets them, they are undamaged, so graceful is their fall.

When I come upon them, I stare at their beauty in wonder.  Obviously they are alive; they differ so from the rocks.  But where did they come from?  Why are they here?  What is their mission?  What will they do now?

I suppose an observer from some unknown dimension coming across me in her strolls could make similar remarks, ask similar questions.

I nod to the winged pods in acknowledgment and walk on, trusting in the Yes that dwells beneath all mysteries and that sends them forth.

They were told, of course, before they volunteered for the Earth adventure, that it wouldn’t be easy.   Earth, after all, was an experimental world, far from settled, and subject to great extremes.

It was a place of breathless beauty and exquisite pleasures, to be sure.  But they were balanced by hardships severe enough to test the bravest soul.

The crocuses volunteered eagerly nonetheless.  To hold true to your mission on Earth, to spread your petals and blossom there was to win the gold.

But it wasn’t the gold they were after.  It wasn’t even the thrill of the adventure.  What really and truly motivated them was the opportunity to express the depth of their love for their mission: to spread joy to the farthermost edges of the inhabited universe, to express it even in the wilds of time and space.

In their hearts they knew that was the key: to hold fast to believing, no matter what, in the sanctity of spreading joy.

And so when the snows fell on their freshly opened petals, they folded themselves carefully inward and quietly chanted their creeds of happiness.  When the winds blew and the night brought frost, they turned their thoughts to their mission, and murmured to one another, “I believe; I believe,” until they fell asleep.

Finally, just as their last bit of strength was fading, the sun rose over the rim of the hills.  And at the touch of its very first rays, the little flowers felt hope rippling through them and a delicious, growing warmth.

One by one, they began to open their petals, gingerly at first, and then in sudden bursts of delight.  Before the sun was even half way up its climb, they were standing tall and broad and open, and their laughter spilled across the lawn and into the air.  It rose to the treetops, where it kissed the morning birds and sailed up to the sky in gladness and praise for the Great Yes who had sent them.  And the Great Yes echoed back their gladness, and the Earth was filled with joy.

Although he wore gold epaulets and amethyst garb, he gave no thought to his position.  His eye was fastened on his purpose, on following its light.

He was the first in his rank to rise, and he did so bravely.  Without regard to the drought or overpowering heat, he unfurled his thick cape and gazed steadily into the day.

His task was to rise, to stand, and nothing more.  He was of the front guard, a wayshower, and he was determined to perform his mission with all the might he could muster.

The meager supply of morning dew evaporated quickly beneath the blazing sun’s gaze, but it was enough to encourage him.  He assayed his resources.  He had strong roots and faith in the soil that gave him birth.  And although there was no breeze to bring him comfort, he saw the stand of woods to the south and judged he could endure the sun until its leafy boughs would shield him.

As the day wore on, he looked about him.  It was really quite beautiful here in the field.  Goldenrod blossomed at its edge and the air was thick with bees.  Once he accustomed himself to it, he discovered the sun’s hot rays were actually pleasing.  He flung his cape open further to let more of its stimulating light play against him.  And he encouraged the troops around him to stand with him and witness the day.

Late in the afternoon, he saw an old man walking up the far end of his row, studying the troops closely.  A distance behind him a woman walked and two small dogs.  He heard the soft crunch of the man’s heavy boots as they edged nearer and nearer.  The old man stopped directly before him and bent over staring.

“Martha!  Look!”  the old man shouted to the woman behind him.  “Look, Martha!  A blossom!”  The man laughed, his wrinkled face breaking into a grin so bright it rivaled the sun.  “We’re going to have potatoes after all!  Hallelujah!”

And the blossom straightened more and was humbled and glad to have triggered such joy.