Like the humble jambu bol tree that nurtures its flower buds lovingly from conception to fruition, for the birds to feed in a frenzy, gone in just an instance.In early March, the black-naped oriole studies the exuberant stamen. In six weeks, the tree is laden with fruit and ripe for the pickings. A day later, the tree is bare as an Indian Ring-neck parrot examines the aftermath.
How the blessings of the day in this world rapidly vanishes, a fleeting salute to the Creator who made it possible for us to live and sustain each day. How do we extend the life of this existential substrate, if only in memory, to retain our thanksgiving and gratitude?
Perhaps it is time to ascribe more meaning to the everyday things that we do, to the normal that we take for granted, to what is life-giving and sustaining, to not consign them to casual neglect, but to give them a hallowed place, and be reminded of their creation and the ultimate act of grace that led these gifts to us, and to reflect the shared inheritance in our midst, not just with kin and family, but with strangers, not just within humanity but with the inhabitants of the earth, not just in the present but in communion and as a memorial of the past, not just our works but all contributions, that has led us to this bliss, a blessing often disguised but not absent, an equilibrium that is only found in our re-balanced wants and needs, a largess that is hidden in the goodness beneath, like pilgrims to Emmaus, traveling without understanding the ultimate destination, minds feverishly alive but deaf to Divinity, unknowingly in search of spiritual nourishment, and the thirst for knowledge replaced by humility for discipleship, to be Still.
(Reflections on the 3rd Sunday of Easter, See also The Road to Emmaus (and back))
G85 Lumix; M Zuiko 75-300 mm, March-April, 2020.