I went to the desert today.
I sat on a fallen tree and surveyed my surroundings. I saw a beautiful purple and yellow flower. What follows is the entry I made in my journal:
Alone. The only one. I scan to look for others just like it, but see none. It's alone, but beautiful. If I hadn't walked further to sit on the tree, would it have been seen and enjoyed? Perhaps. But perhaps not. I look again and finally see one more; no, two more. They form a triangle if I were to connect them with a line. Triangles represent strength and bravery. I feel neither. The things that have brought me to this desert are painful and have sapped my strength. I'm weary and clawing at life. Or do I claw at death, which seems to be so inevitable? Whichever, I bear the scars of the clawing.
How can these flowers, so wild and free, have grown in the desert? Maybe they're a reminder that beauty can indeed come from dry, weather, sun-scorched places.
What if I pick it and take it to a softer environment? Would it die? Perhaps. Because perhaps it requires this type of harsh climate and environment to grow. Perhaps some beautiful things do come from the harshest places.
The more I look, the more flowers I see, all purple and yellow, and all forming triangles with one another. The one is not alone, after all. If we take the time to really look around, we'll find that we're not alone after all and that we don't have to weather the harsh desert on our own. We'll realize that others are weathering it, too.
And maybe they can be the strength and bravery we so desperately need to grow.
