Future flowers... [1.5.17]

I spent much of the early afternoon today carefully sorting out the seeds of my beloved hollyhock that I rescued from the side of a busy highway.  It seemed to me that she could use some extra sun and as I shifted her gently out of the shadows I noticed for the first time that she was heavy with a rich bounty of laden seed pods. The seemingly dusty dry remains of bygone flowers were actually fully alive with potential.  Always there and yet somehow hidden from view until a few precious seeds fell before me on the balcony floor.

And so I sat there in the winter sun and harvested the seeds from their delicate pods.  I shelled them like peas into a red and white antique china teacup and thought about what an incredibly apt metaphor it all was particularly at this time of year.   Each of us on the threshold of a new year. All beginning again. All of us hoping that we will do a little bit better and be a little bit more during this new trip around the sun. And there I was literally harvesting hidden potential.  The same sort which lies in us all.  Seeds full of hope, life and beauty. Setting them aside and keeping them safe now so that my dearly loved little plant can live on in future bright red flowers.

Is that not in so many ways what we all long for?  For the chance to be remembered.  To matter.  To remain here in legacy and spirit, if no longer in body or form.  To somehow find our way into the realm of the transcendent.  To be more than these husks in which we now wander and from which we will one day depart.  To still bring joy to those who walk upon this earth even after we have gone.

Yes.

Yes, that is exactly where we should aim to arrive through our earthly efforts here soaking up the rain and putting forth flowers.  We must carefully pour it into those seeds that will sustain our legacy.  Now latent -- housed in dry hardened husks waiting until the day they again bloom. So as I swept up the dry debris of my efforts, I watched carefully for any lost seeds to avoid allowing even one to go to waste if I could help it because there is simply no way of knowing from which seed the most beautiful flower of all will spring.

The watering balls I use in our plants threw these rich perfect rainbows onto my pile of seedpods.  It felt like both a metaphor and a miracle.