There is a flower in my heart.
I think is a fragile little thing that cannot weather the most severe seasons of Life, but I’m wrong.
It only appears fragile but it demonstrated me over and over, if I look carefully, that can blossom everywhere, that can spread softly and silently its beautiful scent in the wind multiplying its colours and odours until the darkest corner of my being is illuminated for short but essential instants.
It still blossoms in a soul that has become as arid as a desert because left without the water of attention and love for long, too long.
It bends sometimes when caught in the eye of the storm of its own fears and doubts but continues to live on even if a bit bruised and less certain.
It dies sometimes, or at least so it looks, but it renews itself again and again.
It is the flower of Faith. Faith in Life. Faith that there is a Life purpose that justifies everything. Faith that this, regardless of the many wrong turns and time wasted, is a path that leads somewhere, that my destination is a mystery worth of the tears, confusion, frustrations and efforts of a journey of discovery. Faith that I have all that I need inside me already. The ultimate faith that I am never completely alone because I am not really separated from everything and everybody else but we all participate together to the creation of the glorious and heart-breaking mystery of Life.