In this divine garden we call the world, the flowers seem to be engaged in one-upmanship. Whose fragrance is sweeter? Whom are the bees attracted to the most? Whose thorns hurt the worst? Keeping score, causing needless suffering while fighting to prove who’s better when in reality there was never any contest.
Do the flowers choose their colour, their perfume, the plant to which they belong, the environment they grow in, the thorns they sprout or when they will wither away? What can the flowers truly call ‘their own’? Absolutely nothing. Everything they are so proud of is bestowed upon them. Does it even make sense to compare? What is the purpose of the flower in the garden other than Just to Be a unique expression, a celebration, of the beauty of divinity?
What is this insecure need to compete?
The flowers seem to have forgotten their own brilliance.