Monday, July 20, 2015

July 20, 2015 - The Heart of the Pond

A close up of the surface of a pond catches love in the act of manifesting.  The lily pads spread their greenness over the surface of the water in a loving embrace.  “I love you,” they whisper to the cool water, and the surface water responds by caressing the leaves and lying in little heated pools in the rounded surface of the leaves.

“I love you,” the little pools of warm water whisper to the tiny azure dragonflies as they hover just above the surface, admiring their beautiful reflection.  When they hear these sweet words, the tiny dragonflies dance for joy, whipping their little bodies all about the pond in a miniature display of fireworks.  The water grass sees the mesmerizing dance and falls in adoration at the grace of the tiny azure dragonflies, saying, “I love you.”  Then each blade of grass sways back and forth, back and forth in the warm summer breeze.  “I love you,” the breeze says as it wraps itself completely around the grass in an ecstatic embrace.

The Heart of the Pond.

Together the surface water, the lily pads, the azure dragonflies, the water grass, and the breeze dance for joy until they hear a noise deep within the pond.  What could it be?  The sound is deep and frightening.  The dance slows, and the dancers all stop and hover, waiting for a presence they can feel but not see.  All eyes are on the surface of the water, but she will not reveal the secrets of her depth, not knowing herself what lies in the deep recesses.  And the low and strange hum far below the surface continues.

“If we should dissolve,” whispers the surface water, “all pleasure will cease.”
“If we should die,” whisper the lily pads, “all joy will be lost.”
“If we should perish,” whispers the water grass, “all beauty will be forgotten.”
“If we should crumble,” whispers the breeze, “all love will vanish.”
“But if we should leave,” whisper the dragonflies, “we will never know the heart of the pond.”

Not another word is spoken and not a move is made.  Life hovers quietly in the air, waiting.  The sound grows deeper and stranger, and the surface water ripples in fear.  The sound grows louder and more forceful, and the lily pads cover their ears and huddle against the surface water.  The sound grows fiercer and more urgent, and the water grass quakes and shivers and lies prostrate.  The sound grows horrible and quick, and the breeze falls to its knees, immobile.  The sound grows vast and frenetic, and the dragonflies wait in anticipation.  It is better to greet life head on than to cower in fear over its inexorable march.

And then the wait is over.  The surface water bursts in an explosion and the heart of the pond leaps out and lands upon the surface!  There she gleams, resplendent in brilliant pink with petals as soft as a bird’s feather.  There she glows in her current manifestation as a beautiful pink lily.

The surface water says, “I know you,” and the heart of the pond smiles.
The lily pads say, “We adore you,” and the heart of the pond hums with joy.
The water grass says, “I am your humble servant,” and the heart of the pond dances.
The breeze says, “I worship your beauty,” and the heart of the pond leaps and soars.
The dragonflies say, “We love you,” and the heart of the pond says, “I know.”

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