How often do we really look at the single blossom that, mingled with many, brushes that swatch of color across the garden, or imbues the air with a heady fragrance that greets us when we come home? We appreciate the whole. Time to gaze at the individual blossom, or even the petals, strewn on the ground, nestled against the bride's veil. May her path be ever so beautiful...
I placed a wide bowl of water on the table; it was much too large to fill with lilies. But that made me look at the water, and think how that, too, was beautiful. We let the water run from taps, we gulp it down, we bathe in it. But how often do we stop to look at water--in a humble glass, or a dish, not a dramatic lake or an ocean--and see it for the everyday thing of necessary beauty it is?
One day I laid out bowls of flowers on the table. No one sitting there, at their computer screens, looked up to see them, much less thank me. I was disappointed.
And then I thought, why does this upset me so? Did I put the flowers there so that I could be thanked? Or did I put them there as an offering, come what may?
One way of putting the flowers on the table is pure, and open, and simply alive, free of judgement and expectation and free of that tension that comes of wanting to please, and be noticed. That way is all about the flower.