“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.” Buddha’s quote is so beautiful and visceral for me… not only have I had an energetic or emotional experience with the divine soul of a flower- I have felt the pure physical sensations of my inner lotus rising to experiencing itself in all energy centers in my body, settling at my crown in one moment and then retreating below the waters of the heart chakra into the divine lower centers integrating heaven and earth within myself until they are synonymous. When meditating with the amaryllis (one of the bravest entrepreneurs), I was told by both the plant spirit and my guide Genevieve that flowers have chakra systems just like we do but that the solar plexus translation and heart manifestation can vary in location depending on the species and personality of the flowers! I could spend my whole life in a bed of the earth’s laughter (the flowers) in pure gratitude for the upliftment, essential oils, and healing lessons they have brought to me! The Bach flowers work on a deep emotional level bringing holistic healing into our awareness and coaxing the subtle energy body into the restfulness of homeostasis. I love the beautiful balance in a bouquet of flowers or mix of essential oils with the harmonious chords of fragrances speaking into the many aspects of myself. The top note of the fragrance velvets into conscious awareness, appealing for a closer look inward… the middle note bursts its heart and soul energy into the aura and subtle energy fields of the hiker or seeker and the bottom frequency bows its head into the no-time where the vitality of the flower can linger on the clothes or the skin blessing its contactee with a kiss of remembrance and a calming caress against the grains of self-imposed stressors. The erogenous perfumery doesn’t stop at mere perforation of the physical senses but gracefully invites the sister encounter of higher aesthetic and emotional ambitions. These beings and elemental spirits that accompany them wait for us to let go of our rigid itch to compartmentalize health and to release confining definitions that we often insist upon. Their tenant is multi-dimensionality and their effects (even the ones too low below the awareness threshold) are often subliminally potent. It takes 8 million jasmine flowers to produce one kilogram of oil… for this reason I deeply thank the oversoul of each plant and flower for the divine production of each petal that integrates into a more cosmic understanding of my cell-estial existence. I always ask permission before picking a flower and I don’t go traipsing over the delicate stems or grasses… respect for the plant kingdom requests that each step be mindful and conscious. The more present a being is in the moment, the more profound and noticeable is the blossoming harvest of nature’s remedies. Some flowers and plants prefer to experience themselves rooted and grounded in the womb of earth… others leap at the opportunity to assist mankind in their development by becoming an even more personal mirror… sustained in the vase or in an oil by the conscious love of the observer. I meet the flowers at the synapse called Being and sit in the central sun of their embassy’s swelling truth – a savory flavor of the tao with infinite frame and transparent view. Light gold and pink find their light team-toll free- in the art of a full-petaled sea- a crystalline matter adorned in me. In this place I am edgeless… ringing with the timbre of a soul without condition and a meadow alight with the volcanic shattering of belief in the mundane. I love the terrain of an innocent face nourished in the echo of the earth’s floral vein… it’s in the health of a dream and soul of a tree where a fruity kiss bears ambrosial gifts in co-efficients of blue and green. My slow ticking is a sweeping conclusion to a geneology clear in the emphasis here on the ecstatic birthing of a sapling me. My summit climbs endless and free- a lasting recipe- encoded in the span of a redwood and a four seasoned breeze. This fusion of endearing play is a sweet reception at the street called dejavu and the whistling wind of an inner zipline bound for beauty’s rendezvous.
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 19:28:54 +0000
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