THE SACROSANCT FLOWERS

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

-          Jesus, Matthew 6 28-29

Going off the paths and down the side of the fields we passed a small pond. Beyond that there was a hidden marsh with hundreds of feet of yellow flowers. They were pristine, untouched, still and fully bloomed. Like an arrangement in some natural and knowing cadence they waited, glistening in the sun. There are no trenchant conversations, psychic forces good or bad, no lurid infrastructures or anything of the sort. There is there, was there, just the marsh and those flowers under the impossibly blue hued sky. Wow and wow, I thought, as I gazed upon them. The world was so still and serene. Is it possible it was beyond serene and had become sacrosanct due to an extended solitude that allowed  its sublime aura to evolve? And it all just happens of itself in time.  The green stems, people forget about. The green stems made a maze, intricate and labyrinthine, of themselves. And it’s a bit deceiving, because the ground, utterly untouched, looks easy to walk upon, - it is flaxen and yellow and parched looking. But underneath, right there, is the full, the robust water and mud that grab and sink the feet, that let their cold into the shoe

and socks and skin. Still it is difficult to leave such a place. You can look up and try to eat the sky. You can look across and inhale the air, drink the flowers! - Drink them into your eyes, and they will become part and parcel of you. Soon a little breeze does come. Then a little more wind. Its speaking, but in a different language. It’s Gnostic, beyond Gnostic if that were possible. The world is backwards and the fields, in their meanderings, their wildness and wind, in brook and marsh, fog, snow, sun, summer humidity, autumnal reds and yellows, afternoon storms, and quiet perfect late spring afternoons, are straight, are upright, moral, decent, and Godly. Those environs and the atmosphere around, in, and about, are, as the flowers that have been borne and thrive (and now rest, huddled in their own way in a textured and cool night), sacrosanct.

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