The Most Magnificent Bouquet,... or a Really Cool Bunch of Flowers~An Adventure of Olive and Go Boughsby
"War solves nothing, it is not its intent." *
I think I’ve discovered the reason for the women’s giggles. They were in no way laughing at us. One of them, it seems, managed to place a perfect black iris in with the Most Magnificent Bouquet without my knowledge. This one, of the many flowers I have seen, is very intriguing. I mean, I don’t usually think of black when I think of flowers. I probably should have because it is gorgeous, and that the many colors of flowers seem to cover the whole of the color spectrum. Black is actually a spectrum unto itself. White cannot exist without other colors. I gingerly pull the black iris from the bunch for closer inspection and find it is so much more than meets the eye.
The ruffled petals are deepest purple to black from their tips to their center before they lighten to a red tinted black at the bottom that leads like the rest of them to a glowing orange center. Extraordinary. They are known as the Queen of the wildflowers here. They are everywhere. Keeping an eye on our guide as she rides the crest of desert sands, which now resemble terrifically long, immense waves, with ease, we journey along coming to a young man furiously or passionately writing in the sand. Looking down I see he has covered the land in the effort. It’s beautiful. I believe they’re poems. Oh my goodness, these are love poems. Because, though they are so passionately written, great, loving care is taken in the script. A script I don’t recognize at all. It is more recent than the hieroglyphics of the Land of the Great Pyramids. To me it is so beautiful. I’m guessing it is still ancient, possessing great wisdom, power and mystery, like love, within.
“Yes.” says a different, older man walking with a staff in traditional garb.
“His poet’s heart is a deepest well that springs forth in verse for a love he may not ever possess, but, only if you believe the world. His name means possessed, because of his zeal for Love, not because, like with possession, he is not in control of his faculties. He is and seeks no harm to himself or others as one possessed would. The father of his beloved has denied his request to marry her, even though she loves him so. Her father, like those who do not understand the power and determination of true love, judge him to be insane, and a man of little means. Her father gave her to another, very wealthy man. But, I wish you to ask yourself, dear Olive, What are great means without love?
“So he goes about trying to reach someone, anyone who understands love like this. The lengths he feels he must go or love leads him to satisfy Love’s desire to love and be loved. The people mock him mercilessly. He can’t care. All he can see is her eyes like black irises saying breathlessly, without words, ‘Release me, from all that binds me. From social constructs and their confines that I may be free to choose and to love.’ He cannot turn away. He’s not that kind of man. He’s a truthful man.”
How awful, How heartbreaking. Looking around I see the young man is gone and the beautiful calligraphy covering every inch of the rolling sands of the land is being slowly swept away by a light desert breeze. I want to throw my body on it to make it stop, but see the fruitlessness of it.
“You act as if there is not a higher court. That love, or it’s word, is not eternal, and for the most part unseen, my child.” says the man.
“Well, what happened?” I ask, unable to witness this level of desperation and passion for a love so true. “He talked to the husband, right? He said. “Love makes the highest claim, not wealth or family name or tribe and takes her away from her worldly prison?” I ask, almost breathless with anticipation. The man shakes his head slowly.
“He finds she has died from a broken heart. In spite of this, instead of hating love, he goes to her and pours out a poem denouncing all but love, his for her, hers for him, a love the world doesn’t seem to know or understand, and then he returns to the desert to wait for death. What else can he do?”
“What?!! Is this some kind of cruel joke?! Are you kidding me?!” I say, furious at such an injustice regarding a love So True.
“No, Love is as strong and serious as death. Actually, much stronger, as death has not the final say.” He says, sweeping his hand giving me a panoramic view of the land just as my guide had done not so long ago, and the land is full of what appears to be mourning black irises, as black is often associated with death. Yet, the centers glow bright like hearts on fire fanned by winds of truth and spirit that pour out from the sun at a million miles an hour.” * explains the man, and continues, as I try to be patient with his explanation.
“The black iris is both male and female in one flower. It is Layla and Manjun. The poet lover and his beloved. The ultimate and other worldly union of their love symbolized in one flower and it’s uninviting, harsh and parched desert sands of a land where love still blooms regardless, making clear that true Love is eternal and spreads anywhere it sees fit and not in our control. As is said in some lands, ‘What the Highest Love and Judge puts together, nothing puts asunder.’ not now, not ever.”
Okay, phew……I’m feeling much relieved and surprised as I wasn’t expecting something so beautiful, and poignant a testament to them, though it makes perfect sense. I smile for them. But, for those who laughed and mocked, those who denied them the love they craved like water simply didn’t have love. How sad. The man tells me this also renders them unable to see, they are blind to Love’s symbolism in the black iris flower, as well. Even though, as we can see, it is everywhere. The man however now moves through them slowly with staff, direction, surrender and purpose. Go seems to feel assured, too, but so much of that depends on me and my state of being, and for that reason I wish I could just be happy and confident all the time. Don’t we all. But, there is more to our experience here as humans. Go’s just been kicked a soccer ball by a young man in a white uniform with red lettering and a red number 9 on his back. The kick is masterful to say the least. Go steps way back and makes a run for the ball with his nose lifting it high in the sky to me who in turn kicks it to a young woman in red shorts and shirt with the number 19 on her back. She picks it up, lays her elbow over it with one hand and waves goodbye to us. I wave back, always so happy to see fellow beautiful game champions. My sight following a long line of camel tracks, I see a family of little red foxes heading into the wonders of a small Mediterranean evergreen forest. If I had one wish at this moment it would be that the forest would be there for them forever, like this place for Usama and his family and the desert for the camels and all who choose to explore this mysterious andwonderous nation. Which, as our guide looks west from her sand hill crest, is under great threat. I join her, leaving Ruby at the bottom of the hill, Go in tow, powerfully tackling the steep uphill, loose sand climb. I’m not prepared for what I see. I’ve grown accustom to not noticing the threats, like over development, lack of restrictions on toxic waste, greed and avarice, they are not so obvious to the naked eye. But, here, a real time brutal war is being waged, one as depraved and futile as they come. As war never leads to peace, only simmering tensions. It’s a war between what look like hovering and darting white fairies, or sprites more accurately, as they have wings. They are as tiny as fluff on a breeze, exactly like that of a dandelion, only more translucent and glowing. But, that could be the way the light hits them. Yikes! Wait just a minute. We’ve shrunk, Go, Ruby the Cool Bunch and I. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of humans shrinking to this size. Little time for awe,……The battle rages. As brutal as it is, I can’t take my eyes off of it. Though I seem to be in conversation with something in the background, of my mind?
“The battle is between the oppressed and the oppressive powerful ogres of this realm. It is the Pappus realm. The inhabitants are Pappuserie.” I’ve only read about and imagined them. “They each carry magical seeds upon their wings spreading them throughout the world. Some with love’s intent upon spirit like winds whose direction we cannot know,* others with direct, though misguided, more sinister and unnatural intent. One seeks to destroy the other and all their remaining seeds. One is much, much larger and imposing called the Salsifi, also known as The Goat’s Beard. “The other is very small, known as Taraxacum, or the Tooth of the Lion.” Imagine ones so small having the tremendous, noble duty of sowing seeds of life and Love. Wow. And like the poet, Imagine the perils they face, not just of the oppressor, but, the weather and thoughtless trampling by man and beast. I look around forgetting we are now this small. “The Salsifi have the power of an Empire and faith in it’s like-minded nefarious goals, and it’s world serving nature behind them. What is a world serving nature, you might ask? Insatiable, gobbling up everything in sight. They, like weeds, but who are we to judge, are invasive, and considered most undesirable in certain situations, arriving where it conflicts with a sovereign……., for all intents and purposes, let’s say garden's, preferences, needs and goals. * The Salsifi also carry seeds of no noble character, as they seek to sow chaos with hate and violence. But there is always the great hope that they will fall in rich fertile soil so hard, forgetting all they knew to be true, and regrow in the true light of the sun. This is in no way guaranteed because the garden is, also full of dry, rocky, soil and thorny paths.* And, again, how the wind blows we cannot know. But, fret not, in the end it’s all good. “In the meantime, the Taraxacum, also considered weeds, but who are we to judge, have only themselves, their faith in a Higher Sprite, homegrown ingenuity and invention. But, they have spirit, one of love and love’s desire for justice, because they are inseparable. They fight just for the chance to live free in the only land they’ve ever known and encourage others to do the same. “It is long known that the presence of the giant Salsify negatively impacts the overall functioning and biodiversity of the eco-system and carries an illusion of supremacy over all else. “While the noble sprite would live side by side in peace, if necessary and determined by the higher courts of justice in the wider garden. Which would be a huge concession on their part as this is their land. The land they had long enjoyed as a part of their very being, when the colonizers arrived, but they see the infinite wisdom in peace and it’s great example to the world, were it to be so determined. If that were to be the case, both parties will need to be closely monitored by Peacekeepers if the choice for peace is agreed to and until it is maintained for a reasonable amount of time. “In the mean, cruel time, the oppressed have finally and inevitably said enough is enough. They had tried peaceful methods and agreements to no avail. We should all understand that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. One day all the actions of hate and injustice will be met in one single direct, undeniable and swift action of Love for the ages. It will be the Highest Authority in the Garden who will determine the weeds from the flowers, so to speak. “So, let it never be said that nature is passive or that the Highest Scales of Justice don’t take note and weigh matters as grave as these.” Has said this unseen calm voice, that has not shaken me at all. I’m too focused on what is before me, as the voice has helped to put such a horror in perspective for us. I breathe out now, and only now, able to look more closely, understanding that none of this battle's outcome is ultimately in their hands and grateful for the unsolicited, helpful messages. I find that so much of this battle does depend upon which way the wind blows and I wish I had the power to move it in the direction of Love for one another. But, my breath, and young will alone, even for ones so small, is not nearly enough. It takes a decision on their part as we are each allowed free will. For now. the battle drags on.
The Taraxacum’s shelter from the volley of rapid fire is what are now towering blades of grass and their trenches are remaining earthworm trails. The Tarax for short, are outside the ramparts made by burrowing honey badger’s dirt wakes that serves to protect and surround their tiny sprite kingdom and provide strategically crafted watch towers on the front lines. The front lines are dotted with abandoned ant hills that provide cover, as the ants have gone out on maneuvers of their own. Leaving an example to all with their steadfast, highly focused march as they labor tirelessly for provisions. The gift of burrowing moles who have moved on to deeper earth provide needed trenches and tunnels. The battle ground being set, I study more closely the soldier’s barracks. The barracks are hollowed out tree bough halves that form long domes. They are covered with a mixture of moss and grass making them hard to detect from above. The soldier’s uniforms are fashioned from tightly woven, water resistant, breathable yet, warm dove’s feathers with patches of green from the ring necked parakeet, bright red from the Threskiornithidae…(a beautiful bright red shore bird similar to the ibis) and simmering black from the tail feathers of the kingdom’s sunbird on the breast and sleeve. They are folded neatly at the foot of each cot, one of two fatigues each soldier has been issued. The cots are simply one tiny, cupped, fluffy, down feather placed in long rows. In the far corner of the barrack are the weapons. Mostly arrows crafted from the very tips of birds beaks and tied to the tiniest bones I’ve every seen and can’t identify. So after a lifetime of singing and flying, in death they leave so much of themselves to aid in life’s continuance before their final decomposition. They need no donor card, being from a different more trusted kingdom. Our tour of the barracks is interrupted by the sound whizzing and whirling of shots being fired and bombs landing. Go has taken cover under the cover of one of the feathers. Yes, we are somehow this tiny. Don’t ask. I have no idea. I step lightly to the barracks door and see the ground covered in large pellets and huge devil balls and thorny spheres! The ones I’ve see my whole life in the woods that line Gramps’ and Granny’s long, winding driveway. Now they look like spiked boulders. How they were set on fire, I have no idea. But, I don’t know all the capabilities garden sprites. I see that the pellets are hardened rabbit pellets!! I wonder for a moment why they don’t just fire the seeds, but that would be something like sacrilege….. or (the violation or injurious treatment of a sacred object, site or person) or the sacrificing of others to save yourself. The pellets will serve their purpose and fall back to the ground as fertilizer for rich soil. It’s an all out assault on the oppressed. As I see them on the front lines knowing the armies target is not them alone, but the whole of their tiny partitioned land, it’s men, women and children and anyone who dares to aid them in their defense and there are winged sprites the world over trying to come to their aid!! Oh no,….they are being hindered by the world over by power and long arm of the Empire.
“That means us, too, Go. We are here to aid the oppressed.” I say, as the realization sinks in as to the battle and the peril we are now in. That so many before us have faced standing with the oppressed and not the mighty and powerful oppressor……But, I’ve seen, read and heard of unimaginable instances, some say, miracles of the small and oppressed’s confident and eternal victory over giants. I take a deep breath, and hope I’m able to keep Go out of harm’s way. The voice returns like a narrator of history as it unfolds and I realize how much a part in history everything plays, even Go and me.
“It seems a little female has become the symbol of this war’s evil and blind intent, Olive. And though she has been mortally wounded, she has been immortalized.* She’s was a little girl whose brave and desperate calls for help went unheeded, (but not divinely unnoticed), because those who could help were blocked from saving her and the world was told by the powers, principalities and rulers that, ‘Hey, War is hell. What do you want?’ and left it at that, as an excuse for her death among the bombed out hospitals, schools, playgrounds and Universities of their cities. Not to mention thousands of homes and apartment buildings. When I bore witness to our first war on this mission I remember questioning why one so young, like me, should have to see such things. Not realizing what a privileged question this was as so many infants are bore in the midst of war and left to hope to be able to simply grow up and live to see it’s oppression’s glorious end. Something my neighborhood has never known. I wonder why? * “So, we’ve been told and trained to simply accept war as hell. But, children around the world will not accept this as any kind of reason, let alone an acceptable one. They have risen and taken to the streets to insist there be an end to the sacrifice of children for the material ends of money to buy power and prestige.” Before I, finally, turn to seek this voice, so strong, but softly speaking, I wonder as it becomes almost familiar, it’s being so of love, does it matter from where it comes? Yet, being human, pulled by curiosity, I turn to seek it and find only a slender red rose on a hill. Thorns, seemingly in worship lie in prostrate like fashion at it’s foundation. How strange. The dauntless children march peacefully, carrying huge flags, bigger than themselves, while ducking rubber pellets and skunk spray. Ugh! How brave of them. But they see that if so little is thought of this little girl, so little must be thought of them in an empire’s quest for money and the bragging rights of stolen lands. Can you brag about stolen goods or lands? Surely, not.
They began fighting for love of the oppressed and with whom they see themselves their younger siblings in the near future, like sheep to the slaughter, against a heavily armed dark Empire, unarmed, with otherworldly fortitude. The battle rages on and I hope to update you as to it’s end and it’s resolution in real time.
Our guide explains that this region has never known peace for long and that the whole world has suffered for it. She says, in her opinion, they’ve never really tried. It’s a battle of wills. When only Love’s will is victory. She goes on to say, “In life there always seems to be so much bad where there is so much beauty and good. Love and peace are the good and can only offer themselves completely to defeat the other and claim eternal victory. So the children carry on with love in their hearts for those without to witness, hoping they will see reason and beat their swords or weapons into plowshares or tools of good harvest for all to share.” * Our guide reminds me that Love does rule and is victorious, and “To the victor the spoils.” I’ve heard. “But, the spoils of war are blood soaked and tainted and will not be necessary as love is all you need to unlock the good gate of love and plenty. War is never the way or the answer.” And with that our tour guide is gone, though she appears again in the distance like a mirage moving further away toward a rose gold sunset and we embark upon a return route unseen.
Anonymous quote based on over 3000 yrs of world history study and observation
Dandelions description from, I can no longer find where. There are many and I hope I have been able to describe them in my own way.
Solar winds-Nasa/Marshall solar physics//https:solarscience.msfc.nasa.gov
John 3:8- “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear it’s sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the spirit.”
Hind Rajab- five year old Palestinian girl
Blind privilege
Isaiah 2:4 “And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people and they beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into plowshares: nation shall not lift up sword against; neither shall they learn anymore.” Author’s thought: It seems many are waiting for God to do this. Like so many other things we expect God to do for us. Never thinking we were privileged and empowered simply to do them ourselves.