On Love


Once upon a
time two seeds slept side by side deep in the earth all winter long.  One day, without warning, without a word, one
of the seeds awoke, aching for light.  It
nudged the other awake, and soon they were both thrumming with a deep,
luscious, hunger for light and warmth. 
They began unfolding, and as they did they disentangled into each other’s
arms, while simultaneously pushing through the darkness.  And there was darkness–long, silent moments
of blackness, of not knowing which way to turn, except into each other’s
embrace, and they would unfurl upwards blindly, mumbling little prayers into
one another’s palms.  They would travel
fine for a time and then hit walls, only to eventually wind their way around
them or through them.  They occasionally got
snagged by the roots of other trees, but managed to free
themselves by simply being themselves, and keep moving through the darkness.  One of the seedlings would uncurl a stem as
graceful as a dancer offering her hand to the sky, and the other would leave
room for the gesture to unfold.  One seed
would stream upwards with a rush of intensity, leaving the other seemingly
behind.  Yet they were woven together at
their core, and so as the one surged forward the other rose too.  One would tire and the other would carry them
both.  One would become overwhelmed by
the ever present blackness and need gentle encouragement to keep reaching
through the fear.  There was a give and
take of these two lovers of light that inspired the darkness to part before
them, to crumble down barriers, to open the gates to the sky.  And finally they emerged, breaking free of
the blindness of not knowing where they were going.  That no longer mattered.  They were a tiny forest of truth, and they
blessed one another with room, they gifted one another with space.  And while they continued to untwist into the
bright air, opening to the light, they reached and stretched towards one
another and towards the light, revealing more of themselves to themselves and
to one another and to the light.  They
unraveled into bloom, and the light wove through them like breath through flutes,
and the two seedlings became trees, and stood together hand and in hand,
holding the earth, holding the light, holding the memories of how they moved
through the darkness, regardless of their inclinations to stop, to fall back,
to swallow the night.  They held their triumphs
and little victories, and then let them bud into fruits and flowers for all to
see, for all to partake of the sweetness and fragrance of their innocence.  And the light.  The light crowned them with the dawn and the
moon, and draped garlands of stars over their shoulders, sent fireflies dancing
around them, sent birds singing through their boughs, children climbing through
their branches.   And they stood, side by side, looking deeper
into the ever unfolding sky.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

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