SNAKES

A friend of mine told me her son is afraid to swim in lakes. He loves pools and even goes in the ocean, but lakes frighten him. She wondered if he fears snakes.

She asked him to imagine swimming in a lake and then draw a picture of what he saw. Sure enough, he drew snakes in the water with him. By identifying his fear, the direction to address it became obvious.

She took him to a serpentarium. Basically it’s a zoo for snakes. In addition to desensitizing him to the sight of snakes, he also picked up a lot of useful facts and good information. He learned there are poisonous and nonpoisonous snakes. Unless provoked, neither variety normally attacks. Both prefer being left alone and avoiding contact with humans. If swimming in a designated area, with plenty of other swimmers, the chances of running into snakes are pretty small. Though still frightened by snakes, he realized that swimming in a lake is not as dangerous as he thought.

Fear is irrational. A little education goes a long way to restore balance on the rationality scale.

This approach to draw a picture of fearful events is a good one. It applies to more than just frightened little boys. Adults can benefit from this technique, as well. It’s a great way to link the right and left halves of the brain in meaningful communication.

The left brain is the side possessing logic. Its ability to reason and draw conclusions makes it ideal for assessing information. However, it needs direction on what information to collect before it starts assessing. If left to its own motivation, it only fills itself with hordes of facts, which by themselves are essentially useless.

The right brain is aligned with passion and emotion. It fires the soul with desire, directing the total organism toward interesting paths of discovery. It spurs the left brain into channeling information that leads to achieving goals established by the right brain.

The right brain is also more in touch with irrational feelings. It’s not hung up on “cause and effect” relationships. It’s free to explore both the stimulus that elicits joy, as well as the tinder that fuels fear.

Drawing is a right brain activity. It allows fear to mingle with joy. Through the subconscious, honesty is always at work when engaged in the creative process. Thus, fears seep through filters set in place by the left brain. These fears can manifest in objects drawn. Once on paper, the left brain recognizes them. Then the alarms go off. But once out in the open, the left brain can now search its data banks, cross-linking options until it finds a solution that defuses the fear.

Even if a person is not an “artist,” they know what they’ve drawn. So, this technique can be successfully utilized anytime the person recognizes fear associated with some event or situation.

Clearly seeing the fears opens the door. Once the brain grasps the parameters of a problem, it begins formulating solutions until finding one that works. It may require more information, but that’s easily obtained once uncovering the need.

The whole process rests on identifying fears. This demands honesty from yourself and sometimes a few parlor tricks, like drawing a picture to uncover hidden fears.

So, identify fears lurking below the surface and swim freely in whatever lake you choose. I know one lad who’s doing just that.

ECLIPSE

Can you imagine the terror the ancients felt during a total solar eclipse? Seeing the sun’s fiery majesty slowly swallowed whole. Piece by piece it darkened. Daylight faded from a dazzling brilliance to an eerie torture of muted nether-glow. Casting a shadowy pall across the land as far as the eye could see and the horrified imagination could fathom.

The darkness must have been unbearable. Not knowing what would happen. Wondering if the world would always be plunged into gloom. Those prone to hysterics, panicked. Creating chaos by their hysteria. Other able to hold onto a semblance of reason, prayed that whatever sins had created this nightmare be granted the mercy of absolution.

Yes, I’m sure terror consumed even the stoutest hearts.

Then, a sliver of hope dazzled from the edge. It spread across the breadth of the bedeviled ball, suspended in dusk against the heavens. Slowly, the blazing and unbounded radiance once again expanded in all directions. As the light returned, faces glowed in its rays and warmed as the sun’s fingers reached down to touch them once more. Relief soothed the tendrils of fear still streaming from frightened minds.

It took time, but humans gained some understanding of the universe. Though we can’t explain why things happen, through observation, conjecture, and repeated observation, we can provide descriptions of how events will occur. We call that science. One of science’s strongest points is the repeatability of observations manifesting in tangible and measurable ways.

We learned that eclipses are naturally occurring phenomena. We even developed enough sophistication to predict when and where they’d occur. We honed our knowledge until those predictions are accurate to within seconds.

Now, when a solar eclipse occurs, we know it always passes. It leaves behind the shining sun embracing us with its warmth. We just have to hold on through the dark and fearful time long enough to get to the brightness.

How interesting that the principles which apply to science are the same ones we use in every aspect of our humanity.

When we first experience a new emotion, it terrifies us. As we continue to gain experience, further observation adds to our pool of knowledge. Failure to assess our knowledge leaves us prone to hysterics. Those prone to hysterics, panic, unleashing chaos with their hysteria. This creates dangerous situations which spill over to affect others.

If we assess our knowledge, we develop insight. Our insight provides courage. It helps us maintain our reason. Though our nails scratch on the surface trying to dig a hold which steadies us, we can utilize our composure to carry us through.

There are times we backslide. Fear is a powerful demon. It overpowers our reason, making us temporarily forget what we’ve learned; what we know to be true. Terror can consume even the stoutest heart. That’s when it’s most important to remember the observations we’ve made. We must find a way to pierce the formidable armor of terror to sneak in just a wisp of past observations — times when we’ve successfully navigated the treacherous sea of fear and survived.

If we survived before, then without any doubt we can survive again, over and over. It just takes repeated observation, the faith to believe in our observations, and the presence of mind to withstand the darkness until it’s once again shattered by light.

I imagine the ancients were indeed terrified by a total solar eclipse, but they learned. So can we.

OASIS

I am an oasis.

On a grueling journey across scorching dunes, traveler’s eyes behold the welcome sight of an oasis. Sometimes these visions are only wishful desperation. They are the heart’s desire manipulating deprived senses into perceiving that which does not exist.

The mind’s eye projects an illusion of whatever a person needs most. This is the basis from which we manifest our reality. However, there is a time lag between our perception and that manifestation. Manifesting illusion into reality occurs only after consistent devotion to the vision and through perseverance.

There are also other times when an oasis is both unexpected and real. The universe is not as cruel and objective as the dogma of science preaches. There are times when seemingly random events spring forth, providing a beacon of light in our darkest hour.

These gifts emerge through chance or divine intervention. The phenomenon is the same, regardless of the label we choose to call it.

When reaching an oasis, the traveler drops into its refreshing pond, replacing fluids lost to the desert’s relentless claim. Sweltering flesh cools and parched lips moisten. The visitor rehydrates, drinking long of its life sustaining waters.

If accompanied by beasts of burden, they too share in the bounty. Available food is hungrily devoured. Famished appetites fill the emptiness with nourishing sustenance.

Available shade becomes a haven for rest. Sleep extinguishes the fire of fatigue and exhaustion, leaving in its place vigor and replenished energy.

The length of time needed for recovery differs. The minimum threshold each person has for recuperating is unique, dependent on many factors. For some it’s a matter of hours. Others require days, weeks, months, perhaps even longer. Some desire surpassing the minimum threshold in lieu of reaching a more stable condition than mere equilibrium. It’s even possible a period of recovery could translate into a lifetime. A temporary refuge may become a permanent home.

Though we all have the same basic needs and desires, there is an infinite combination of ways to fulfill them. Each person’s level of needs is individual. Each person’s desires coalesce from patterns unfolding, according to varying circumstances present in each moment. This collection is a singularity specific to each and every person. So too, the point of fulfillment is determined solely by individual realization.

As such, there will come a time when the traveler leaves. The traveler need not be apologetic, as that is the nature of the relationship. The oasis need not feel exploited. Providing refuge is the gift it’s endowed with.

Embracing our gifts is the highest tribute we offer. Utilizing them to promote harmony is the strongest expression of gratitude.

We can all be oases. All it takes is a willingness to provide service to others in need. We don’t have to sacrifice the roots of our compassion to those who would manipulate us solely to satisfy their selfishness. But, we can offer comfort and provide solace, unconditionally, then be willing to release the wayfarer after regaining his or her strength.

I am an oasis. I provide respite to weary travelers. Please feel free to rest within the lush comfort of my environs. When you are able, feel free to resume your journey, in whatever direction you choose.

PERMANENT CHANGE

That great sage, musician, and singer, Johnny Rivers, sang, “The only thing that’s permanent is change.”

How true.

Nothing stays the same. Seasons change. Shorelines shift. Even our bodies continually change, and not just the natural progression from infancy to childhood to adulthood. In the space of seven years, every cell in our body replaces itself. Though our consciousness remains intact, the body housing it is completely different than the one which housed it years before. No, nothing stays the same.

The real question is how will things change? Will they change for the better or for the worse?

Though change is immutable, we have a hand in how it proceeds. We can’t stop the aging process changing our bodies from the finely honed and sculpted muscularity of youth. But we can do physical exercise to maintain muscle tone and strength. We also have the ability to affect change in our personalities.

One of the great blessings of youth is we can try on a multitude of faces. We can pursue any persona we choose, then change course and try another one. This is essential to gain experience. From experience, we understand our likes and dislikes. We see what works well in propelling us forward and what holds us back.

We make mistakes. We learn lessons from mistakes and apply that learning to improve ourselves. Or, we can wallow in defeat, letting our failures define us to the point we lose enthusiasm. There isn’t a more pathetic sight than seeing a human being listlessly pass each day without hope.

The choice of what we do with our learning is up to each one of us. “Free will” is a gift from the divine. We will either change into capable and vibrant people, or we will change into defeated victims.

Fear is another catalyst for change. We encounter fear in every day of our lives. Fear helps us see danger. We can use fear to alert us to potentially harmful situations, assess the risk, and make calculated efforts to overcome these hazards.

However, some people become so overwhelmed by fear they adopt it as a life strategy. They cower before it. Even idolizing it, like some kind of dark lord. At every turn their fear isolates them, paralyzing them further and further into inaction. They pass through life as no more than a ghost of what they could be; zombies wandering aimlessly.

Why is that for two people facing similar circumstances, one person rises above adversity to reach unprecedented heights, while the other crawls into a hole, buried under their own misery?

We all essentially have the same set of tools to work with. Certainly we possess different talents in utilizing these tools, but we’re all capable of using any one of them. Again, it’s “free will” that makes the difference.

“Free will” teamed with hope and belief is a powerful combination. But “free will” chained to despair leads to self-destruction. These options determine whether the change that is inevitable will be constructive or destructive.

Again, it’s a choice: Hope or despair? One expands the soul beyond limits. The other grinds it into the dust which collects on the feet of those striding forward as they embrace change.

Ponder that, if you utilize your “free will” to do so. I’m going to pull “Home Grown” off the shelf and listen to Johnny Rivers serenade me about change.

BADMINTON

Life is like badminton. Sometimes you whack the feathers off that little bird. At other times you catch the full brunt of taut wires strung across the racquet. They rocket you forward towards a fate unknown. Will you land softly in the grass and have a chance to recover? Or will you meet another devastating blow that sails you across the net dividing two opposing forces? It’s anybody’s guess.

The game is played on a field. The basic layout is set, with official dimensions by which to measure it off. But more often than not it’s set up ad hoc. The surrounding terrain where the game takes place determines the playing field.

In the backyard, a tree or errant wire creates obstacles. On the beach, the space is wide open. But the wind usually looms as a larger factor. Plus the soft sand makes footing more uncertain. Solid ground makes the push offs more controlled. But then, the sand provides a softer cushion if you stumble and fall.

It’s all relative. It’s impossible to predict every scenario. No matter how much preparation is made to address contingencies, unforeseen ones always present themselves. We either adapt or let the unforeseen contingency win that round.

I recall the day I graduated with my master’s degree. I worked hard, jumping many formidable hurdles along the way. I felt proud of my accomplishment. Walking down the aisle, with my gown flowing freely in the breeze at the outdoor amphitheater where the ceremony was held, I looked at all the smiling faces gathered to watch loved ones accept their degrees. In the crowd I spied my loved ones gazing at me. I beamed with a grin stretching from earlobe to earlobe. On that day, I whacked the badminton shuttlecock of life so hard it split in two.

Then too, I’ve experienced the other side of that scene. Getting smacked back and forth by events in my life leaves me wondering whether I’m coming or going. Seeing the world flying past at breakneck speed is a priceless view, regardless of the pain. It offers a perspective rarely seen under normal circumstances and provides insight not easily gained through other venues.

It’s similar to the time I drove to work on a lonely stretch of freeway one winter morning. I hit an icy patch and lost control. My car started whirling on the slick road. Having a 360 degree view of the world spinning around me was interesting. I feared sliding off into the ditch and I hoped no other car approached to crash into me, but the view itself was spectacular. In all my years driving, I’d only seen the road behind me through the rearview mirror. Now the entire breadth was laid out in front of me in full panoramic vision.

I stopped spinning, facing in the right direction at the entrance ramp to a rest stop. I pulled into the rest stop, cleaned my pants, and then proceeded to work. Though the event was scary, the experience was exhilarating, plus I gained insight.

No matter what befalls me, I can pick myself up and choose to go on. Could I have learned that lesson in another way? Probably, but why not take advantage of learning when it presents itself?

So, whether you’re the racket and playing at the top of your skill level, or whether today you’re the shuttlecock getting knocked around, make sure you stay in the game. The next point may be yours.

DRAIN THE GOOSE

Yesterday I said men don’t usually chat in public restrooms. But you know “usually” does not mean “never.”

Today at work I was standing at the urinal. A coworker I casually know entered and stood his ground at the urinal next to me.

He asked, “How’s it going?”

I replied, “You know, there’s few things in life better than taking a piss.”

“I can think of a few,” he mused.

“But not at this moment,” I stated, with a feeling of relief filling me up as my bladder continued to empty.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

Obviously there are many things in life which provide greater enjoyment than urinating. But in the moment when it’s urgent, I can think of none I appreciate more.

There are two concepts to consider — “in the moment” and “appreciation.”

Living in the moment just makes sense. There is no other time to live than in the moment. We can’t go backwards and change anything we’ve done. Though we can plan for the future, we can’t actually implement any of those plans until the future transforms into the present. The only time at which we can act is right now.

This precise second is the only moment when I can do anything. What I do is completely my choice. I can allow someone else to influence me, but whatever action I perform, including no action, is completely of my choosing. I must take responsibility for everything I do. And though I may not always enjoy everything I’m doing, I can at least appreciate this is the moment in which to do it.

Hence, here’s where the second concept dovetails in. I can appreciate many things without liking them. I appreciate getting a shot of medicine when I’m sick. I don’t like to feel needles puncture my flesh or the sensation of medicine forced under my skin. But, I do like the healing it triggers.

I appreciate exercise. I don’t like the burning muscles in my legs and arms as I exert them repeatedly. I don’t like dripping with sweat because of the heat generated through exercise. But, I do enjoy having a toned, healthy body.

I appreciate grief. I don’t like the overwhelming pain that envelops me. But I did enjoy my time with whatever event or person I’m missing now in my state of grief. The time spent in the event or with the person created so much joy that now in its absence I feel a deep longing. Yes, I can appreciate things, whether I like them or not.

Appreciation brings about gratitude. Gratitude fills me joy. It’s impossible to feel sorrow when I’m steeped in gratitude.

So, in the moment I have a need which requires fulfilling, that is the single most important event in my life — even if it’s peeing. I may enjoy many things more than peeing, like kayaking, watching a movie, spending time with friends and family, but when I gotta go, I truly appreciate the experience.

Excuse me, I have a date with appreciation. I gotta go “drain the goose.”

SPLASH-BACK

Men don’t usually chat in public restrooms. There are occasional nods or grunts of recognition, maybe even some bantering, but conversations are rare. I won’t speculate on the reasoning, but that’s the norm.

One time in particular, however, after stepping away from the urinal, I was engaged in a conversation. Actually, it was more a statement directed my way. I was washing my hands and a colleague I worked with commented, “My daddy taught me not to piss on my hands, so I don’t have to wash when I’m done.”

Well, let me assure you my dad was not errant in his fatherly duties. He taught me the same thing. Then he went a step further. He explained “splash-back.”

Now, I know it’s not polite to stare at another person’s crotch, but have you ever noticed the front of guys’ pants as they leave the restroom. It’s more apparent when wearing light color pants, but often there are tell-tale signs — little damp spots visible around the zipper area. Sometime that could simply be the result of an over aggressive faucet, jetting out water which hit the sink and sprayed against the pants. I hate when that happens. But, many times it results from urine splashing back off the urinal wall.

Splash-back is not prejudiced. It doesn’t care if it hits the pants, the shirt, or even the hands. I don’t care how thorough a father was in teaching his little boy not to piss on his hands, washing afterward is just a good practice to ensure cleanliness.

I’m not as well versed in the intricacies of female hygiene, but I am sure that washing properly afterward is still good practice.

Proper washing involves using warm water and soap. It also requires lathering the hands in soap for at least 20 seconds; making sure to wash the palms and fingers, front and back, then rinsing. It’s not just that cursory holding hands under running water long enough to get them wet, then shake them off routine. If you really want to be safe, dry your hands thoroughly afterward. Then use the toweling to shut off the faucet and hold the handle on the door as you open it, before throwing away the towel.

Promoting sanitary conditions is another way to spread harmony. Making sure we all do our parts to diminish the spread of harmful bacteria makes the world a safer place to live.

The body is the temple which houses our consciousness. Taking care of it is paramount if we desire optimum conditions to continue learning and growing. Avoiding disease is one of the best ways we can take care of our bodies. Simple things like proper hand washing help us achieve that goal. It also prevents the spread of germs, thereby providing service to others, as well.

It feels good to do things which help us maintain our lives on a positive course, but contributing to the well being of others fosters our sense of purpose. With a strong sense of purpose, we feel connected to the whole of creation. This allows us to be a vibrant, contributing member of society. And that’s a great way to bolster our self-esteem. Wow, all that from just washing our hands!

So, I won’t be carrying on too many conversations in the men’s room. I’ll be too busy washing my hands. Please pass the soap.

ROCHESTER

I used to watch hot air balloons drift over my house. I’d lounge on my deck in the backyard, either eating dinner or just relaxing, and occasionally I’d hear the distinctive whoosh of a jet firing. I’d look up to see an orange flame blasting from the burner. From my ground view, the basket floating overhead seemed enveloped by the balloon surrounding it from above.

The balloons billowy, multicolored floating dreams passing with purpose. And what vibrant colors! Reds, blues, greens, golds, purples. Bright pastel colors bulging outward, as full as the moon, yet as soft as a cloud.

I’m sure they were at a least a few hundred feet up, but I swear I could almost reach out and touch them passing overhead. I imagined standing on my roof, catching a line thrown down, and whisking away into the blue sky. Hanging on a thread. Climbing up into the basket. Entering an adventure taking me to magical lands over the rainbow.

Quite often we ate dinner out on the deck. If they flew over at dinner time, the wave of excitement washing over my kids and me made us drop our forks and cheer. We’d call out an excited hello to the balloonists, who waved and smiled. Our dinner still suspended, we’d gaze as they trailed off into the distance until the tallest tree branches robbed us of their glorious sight.

That was when we lived in Rochester, a town in Michigan. Rochester sits about 20 miles north of Detroit. Many years ago, we called it in the country. But with urban sprawl, it’s now a suburb.

Along the eastern border of Rochester lays Shelby Township; home to Stony Creek Metropark. It’s a beautiful park filled with pine trees, deer, picnic areas, and a lake. When I was a child, my mother used to pack up the car with kids and food. We’d drive the hour or so in the country to go to the beach there. What a time we’d have; swimming, playing in the sand, having a picnic. Then my exhausted siblings and I would sleep while Mom drove home.

As an adult I moved to Rochester and lived there while my children grew up. Being divorced, my youngest, Courtney, lived there every other weekend. My oldest, Brandi, lived with me. She went to school in Rochester. There’s nothing like being in a school system to become ingrained in a community. She was very popular and knew everybody. We couldn’t go anywhere without people coming up to her to say, “Hello.” It got to the point I was convinced she personally knew every man, woman, and child who lived in Rochester.

After a while, it didn’t faze me that people recognized her wherever we went. But, it did freak me out when it happened one time on vacation. We were at Higgins Lake, 200 miles north of Rochester, and standing in line at a grocery store. Courtney and I were talking when we noticed Brandi had wandered off and was hugging a lady in the next aisle. We found out she was the sister of a neighbor Brandi visited a lot. She lived in the area and just happened to be at the store. What a small world it truly is.

I know. I know. I’m lost in the past, and in yesterday’s post I warned how dangerous it is to stray from living in the “now.” Certainly it is best to be fully present — usually. But every once in a while, a trip down memory lane can soothe the soul. It’s a short respite from the daily pressures squeezing from all sides.

I just took a mini vacation, but now I’m back. However, I do still see a hot air balloon passing overhead out of the corner of my eye.

PHILOSOPHY OF DOG SHIT

I stepped in dog shit the other night.

Just moments before, I nearly ran a red light. My mind was not where it needed to be. Fortunately my reflexes were quick enough and my brakes adequate to stop me before I plowed into a stream of cross traffic.

I’d distracted myself by plotting the best route to a grocery store. It was a store I didn’t usually go to, but was on the way to my destination that evening. There’s another store I’ve been to plenty of times, but it was a little out of the way. I was running late, so I wanted to choose the most opportune store on the most expedient path. My focus was on planning, not driving.

Not living in the “now” is a dangerous situation.

Prior to driving, the power had gone out at my house; right in the middle of my shower. What an inconvenience. I’d putzed around prior to jumping in the shower. I finished a few last minute things I wanted to tidy up before preparing to go out. If I started getting ready when I thought about it, instead of putting it off until the last possible minute, I’d have been showered before the lights went out. Who can plan for such a thing? But still, it was my procrastination that put me in this predicament. At any rate, that slowed me down and I proceeded to make myself late.

I was going to an informal get-together with people I’d never met before. They were the friends of my date. Of course, I was running late when she arrived, so I felt anxious about not being ready. Plus we decided to stop at a grocery story to pick up something for the party. Great! One more delay fed my anxiety even more.

This anxiety bolstered the nervousness I already felt about meeting people I’d never met before. I was certain they were good people, but I didn’t know them. I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted my date to be proud of me, not sorry she’d inflicted me upon her friends. So I was feeling nervous.

Nervousness is all the lubrication needed for events to slide down the slippery slope of tragedy. If I’d been in stronger control of myself, I would have remembered I’m a capable person who people tend to like simply for being myself. But instead, I breathed life into those ancient fears which plagued me ever since childhood — that I’m not worthy.

Old fears are debilitating, no matter how much we reason them away. They still hide on the edge of our psyche, lying in wait to infiltrate any time we doubt our own capability.

So, after nearly running that red light and finally making it to the grocery store parking lot, I turned the wrong way down a one-way parking aisle. I pulled around a couple oncoming cars, whose drivers glared at me like I was the Boston Strangler. Then I pulled into a spot toward the end of the lane, facing in the wrong direction.

Feeling embarrassed from my wrong way trek down a one way aisle and by facing the wrong direction in that space, I sheepishly pulled through into a parking space across the next lane that faced in the correct direction. Since there were no other cars around me, I should have just stayed where I was, but no, I was compelled by pride to pull through. I stepped out of my car and right into a pile of smoldering dog shit.

What else could go wrong tonight?

I felt utterly defeated when I revealed what happened to my date. Taking it all in stride, she simply said, “You go into the restroom and clean your shoe while I pick up what we’ll take with us.”

Crash! It was like a wall came tumbling down around me. What a perfectly simple and cogent plan. How grateful I was to have a friend’s hand to guide me back onto the path of capability. Her simple suggestion brought me back under control.

No matter what happens, we can leave it all behind, correct the situation, and move forward. This is true whether we’re fortunate enough to have a friend with us in our time of need or whether we’re alone.

On our way into the store, there was a container of disinfectant wipes set out, in case you want to wipe the handle of your shopping cart. Since my capable self was back, I grabbed a few of them and purposely made my way to the restroom (walking on my heel to avoid spreading my shit). I meticulously cleaned all the crap buried deep in the recesses of my sole. I rejoined my date. We proceeded to the party.

I had a wonderful time. I made a host of new friends and maybe even found a new kayaking bud.

Next time I’m mired in anxiety and nervousness, I hope I step in some dog shit.

THE BULB AND THE GARDENER

A gardener went walking. He was not the best of gardeners. He tended his garden haphazardly. When motivated, he was careful. But otherwise he was careless. His garden was sufficient, but not spectacular.

On his walk he found a bulb lying beside the path. It was exposed, looked bruised, and had been trampled. The gardener didn’t know what kind of bulb it was, but he sensed it was rare.

He took it home, held his healing gardener’s touch on the bruised areas. He cleaned it and prepared a place in the soil for it. It started growing.

He nurtured it. Gave it water. He spread phosphorus around the soil to strengthen its roots. Every day he tended it. He showed greater care for this bulb than any he’d planted before. His years of experience, with both successes and failures, helped him understand how he must improve his ways in order to coax this precious bulb into flowering. And, this bulb inspired him to strive for improvement.

The bulb sprouted a short nub of a stem, which poked through the soil. Squinting at its first view of the sun, the stem did not see the gardener watering it.

The gardener dressed the soil around the stem with potassium. He watched as it strengthened daily. It grew sturdy and continued shooting upward, becoming a plant.

The plant continued growing. Higher it climbed. As it grew, it admired the tall trees surrounding it in the distance. It looked at the trees’ great trunks, sturdy and strong. They reached high into the sky. Adorned with leaves like a queen layered in fine verdant silks. The plant felt envious, as it was tiny and the trees were huge.

Early in the morning, before the sun rose, the gardener tenderly watered the plant. He stayed for some time admiring its hardy shape. The gardener sprinkled some nitrogen around the plant. With his nimble fingers, he worked it into the wet soil. His touch against the plant conjured up sweet dreams as it slept.

At the break of dawn, the plant awoke. It felt nourished and took a long draft of water into its roots from the still moist soil. Glancing down, the plant was surprised to notice two green leaves beginning to form near its base. Each day the leaves grew broader. More began to form. The plant felt proud having its own cloak of wavering green. But when it saw how many leaves its neighbors had, it felt envy again for what it wished to have, but did not.

The wind started howling. The plant was afraid its precious leaves would rip away. But the gardener brought out a cloth fence and slid it around the plant. It was secure inside this shelter, though the sides shielded its view and it did not see the gardener.

The plant liked the shelter, but felt lonely because it could no longer see its neighbors — the trees and other plants. It felt secure, but smothered, not realizing the protection was only temporary, until it grew strong enough to withstand winds without breaking.

Eventually it grew high enough to peek above the top of the fence. It was even more envious, as the other plants had also grown taller. It was now too tall to see the ground at its base, and thus could not appreciate how much it had grown, too.

A storm began to rage. The plant was frightened. The gardener rushed out to cover the fence enclosing the plant. It closed its eyes in fear and did not see him. He stood protectively above, shielding it from the heavy rain. The plant still felt drips as water drenched the gardener’s clothes and fell from his heaving chest. It felt comforted as the drips were gentle and the water soothing.

When it opened its eyes again, it was surprised to see flowers sprouting on all the surrounding plants. Once again envy coursed through it. The plant was unable to see its own flower beginning to bud, even though each day its bloom grew larger.

The gardener stood at a distance, watching her unfold. She was now filling the world with joy simply by her sheer grace. He felt pride in the work he’d done and the patience he’d shown assisting the bruised bulb into a rare beauty. Tears streamed from the gardener’s eyes. His life was filled with joy in appreciating the flower simply for being herself.

The gardener and the bulb had helped each other to grow.

The flower did feel the warmth of the gardener’s love as it grew, but could not fully appreciate it. She’d blossomed into a Yellow Ladyslipper Orchid — one of the rarest of flowers. And though her jealous neighbors looked in awe at her dazzling beauty, her focus was still shaded with envy. The only thing she saw was all that she was not. She was unable to see what she truly was; had always been capable of. The gardener went into the house to fetch a mirror.