Several weeks ago, a pest attacked the rose bushes in my garden. The sap-sucking bugs nearly killed the plants. These lost all their leaves and did not flower for a while. Thankfully, my Constant Gardener (Jardinero Fiel) eliminated the pest. Leaves started to bud soon after, and in the last week magenta and yellow roses have blossomed again. The magenta rose bush, in particular, is thriving, full of gratitude to my Gardener and eager to live.
All of this has happened during very difficult weeks on many levels of experience. Thankfully, Rumi’s poetry reminded me that accidents and difficulties, even sorrow and grief, are buds that one day blossom into joy, happiness, and even wisdom. While the blossoming happens, it is good to persevere and hope in silence.
Every accident, and the essence of every being,
is a bud, a blanket tucked into a cradle,
a closed mouth.
All these buds will blossom
and in that moment you will know
what your grief was,
and how the seed you planted has been miraculously,
and naturally, growing.
Now silence.
Let soul speak inside spoken things.
Rumi, “Spoken Things”
Daniel G. Campos 