Following the childhood trails (see Bonnie’s and Cathy’s posts at www.windshieldthinking.wordpress.com and www.trufflesandtea.wordpress.com), I’ve been gathering flowers and humming old nursery rhymes…
Five little piggies. The first one went to market and looked at the stalls, smelling cheeses and breads, touching fruit, or buying flowers. The second was in no mood to venture outside and stayed home with a good book and a glass of orange juice. The third piggy loved meat and swallowed a juicy chunk of roast beef while the fourth, a vegetarian, would have none of that: he ate a light salad instead. The last little piggy, tired of gallivanting in the meadow, ran all the way back home yelling “wee, wee, wee”, so happy was he to know that food and warmth awaited inside the familiar walls.
One big bad wolf. He yearned to break the pigs’ front door open and to bring his huge body and appetite into their kitchen. He had good luck with the stack of hay and the pile of sticks. Fond memories. Breaking through bricks proved much harder and landing in a pot of boiling water was not exactly his idea of fun. The tune those darn pigs sang while he ran for safety drove him mad: ‘Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf’? Not the piggies; not anymore. What about us? As we go about our days, between market and home, do we feel secure in our steps or do we fear what’s going to come down the chimney?
A flower. One of my Twitter buddies is a talented photographer whose posts of a gorgeous red amaryllis are respectively titled “Red Riding Hood” and “Red Riding Crown”. The flower graduates from little girl lost in the woods to queen status. How? She blooms. Her bright petals open up to take in the light. She grows taller and declares -through her bold color and delicate shape-what she stands for: dazzling and tender beauty.
One’s journey. I’d rather be compared to a royal flower than to a bunch of pink fleshed mammals, yet I’m willing to delve into the wisdom of those seemingly silly childhood rhymes. We each harbor different desires and follow different paths. We venture away from home and cross life’s many bridges. As we travel even further from our native pastures, unknown shadows creep up and scare us: we’re afraid of getting hurt; of hurting others; of failure; of success; of loving too much or too little. We’re afraid to die. We stall or push ahead all the while yearning for a safe place to catch our breath and recharge. We want to go home.
All the way there. Home can be a house or a bench in the park; the embrace of a dear friend or a lover’s kiss. It comforts and soothes for a while but does not fill the secret places inside that dream of lasting quiet and joy. That inner home is shaped in our hearts as we tend to the soft voice that murmurs of what we truly love, of what we truly want. It is built one spiritual brick at a time as we dare have faith and move forward. When the whispers grow into a song that will not be silenced, we are called to turn to the light and, like the proud amaryllis, we find the strength to become all that we were born to be. We blossom and bare our unique and vibrant colors. We’re not afraid to live anymore. We’ve found our way home.
For a picture of Queen Amaryllis, go to www.capturethesoul.wordpress.com and scroll down.
Copyright © Maryse G. Copans – January 2010