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Rose By Chris Brozek Upon the anticipated completion of my desert journey I happened
across a Rose just coming into bloom, yet within the bitterly cold
season of winter. It was an exquisite flower,
unlike any other I had
ever encountered; standing in its presence I thought it remarkable
how the Rose arose from
this harsh environment in such a grand and
noble fashion, let alone rising at all.
I watched - fascinated
- and in profound humility at being present
as the Rose gracefully - magnificently - unfurled its soft, plush,
succulent
and velvety petals to the world; an ever so sweet, heavenly
aroma wrapping me within the enchantment of its scent; the
flowers
allure drawing me ever closer, ever inward. In its blooming, the Rose
revealed its plump, ripe Pistil
and Stamen - so delicately balanced while
heavily laden with pollen – all contained within multitudes of surrounding,
embracing petals.
I sat nearby - entranced - watching as morning afternoon and
evening sunshine accentuated
its smooth, rich luster and many
colorful moods: red, cranberry, crimson, burgundy, carmine, sangria,
and maroon.
Numerous facets - aspects - all wrapped together as one.
Sunset bowed to moonrise and moonbeams shone upon and highlighted
the quiet beauty of its slumbering state.
Reaching out to cradle this perfect specimen, I held the Rose ever
so reverently in the palms of my hands - oils from my skin and
saline from my tears bathing it - drenching it - with
joy. Day after day;
Night after night; Sunrise to sunset; Moonrise to moon set; I sat there
in communion with this
most beautiful piece of creation.
Nothing could tear my gaze and attention away from its splendor and
all
the while my shadow shielded the Rose from the harsh rays of the
desert sun. Though, as a result of my passionate and
complete adoration
of its beauty, the oils and salts from my body drained the Rose of nutrients
and my close proximity
robbed it of sunlight. In doing so the flower slowly
wilted and perished before me, now left lying limp and dull in the
palms of my hands. In my state of enchantment I had not noticed how the Rose's
spiny thorns cut deeply into my skin;
in doing so drawing blood from my veins. Steady streams of blood became mixed with sweat, oil and tears in a pool upon the
frigid desert sands surrounding the Rose's stem.
Heartbroken at losing such beauty and inspiration and weakened
from
loss of my own lifeblood, it was not until many moons later which I arose,
finally leaving the Rose's
remains in place to be reclaimed by nature.
Upon doing so I turned and set out to resume my journey, now with scars
to mark this time, this place; But also with the wisdom and understanding
that there was still much more to this desert
for me to traverse…
- C. Brozek (2009)
About the Author: Christopher Brozek is a Knight in the Noble Order of Tara
and father to two most remarkable young people. When not being Director of IT for an Internet services company
in Schenectady, NY, Christopher occasionally
pauses to write about the profound beauty of the natural world around us or metaphorical reflections on his own
life's journey.
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Mirror of Isis - "We are all Her reflection" Copyright
© 2004-2009 The Circle of Isis Advisory Board, Fellowship of Isis
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