Oh, Scabiosa

The Scabiosa flower sits still in a placid glass of water.

A week or so has passed since I plucked her from her sisters,

though, with reverence, as a reminder of love for my Beloved.

For that, I am not sorry,

but humbled that I even have the ability to make that choice;

to take a life so easily.

How do we wager our choices to make and take life?

How to stay in omnipresent awareness that our decisions,

no matter how small,

have impact

make waves

upon the many seas of microcosms

of which we are imbedded in.

I wonder….

if her sisters miss her,

or if I stole a drink from a bumble or a hummer that day.

I wonder what ripple the absence of her presence in that field of flowers has caused.

It calls me in,

Into the humility of being human.

Calls me in

to stretching my heart

like hide on beam

to invite the inquiry about the repercussions of our actions,

so that, at the very least,

it can call us into remembrance of our inextricable interconnection to all of life.

Everything we experience, experiences us.

We leave our participatory mark upon all that we touch.

What is the mark we are leaving on the world?

I ask the Scabiosa

And she sits, showing me

how the amalgamation of our interactions,

of which becomes our reality

become the worlds reality, too.

It’s always a two way conversation.

And still,

after many risings and settings of sun and moon

the Scabiosa flaunts her beauty

in its fullness, an earth bound supernova,

still yet to wither into cosmic dust.

And I wonder if I have done a good thing,

to put her here on this table

to help all that gaze upon her remember this, too.