life loves being loved


The hibiscus was sick, struggling, being attacked by sucking and chewing insects.  Once in a while it would open up a spectacular burgundy bloom to the sky, as if sending up a mayday flare.

I tended it with food and water; the predators were transferred elsewhere; infected tips were cut off and it was watched tenderly.  But its home ground was devoid of nourishment – the big tree roots had taken, and continued to take, all the life from the little garden.  Radical change was called for.

Up it came from the wasteland.  Down went its roots into its own prepared pot.  A little reiki for recovery, then it went into intensive care.

Within a week every chewed leaf had turned to a glorious display of bright ginko gold.  It seemed like a gesture of gratitude, for there was no longer any sense that the plant was ill – indeed, it was robust and new green buds were already appearing.

Yet curiously, not all the old tired leaves left the plant.  Some, only a few, remained.

It’s only now that the plant is covered with new leaves and blossom buds that the last of the old ones are dropping off …

Hmmm. Now that’s interesting.  Those old unwanted bits of Beingness clearly serve a purpose.  They fall away in their own good time.

If I am present, watching, listening, Nature answers my every question.  Elegantly, patiently and tenderly.  She loves being loved.


the wisdom of a little shrub


Here in the tropics there’s a shrub that bursts into sensational bloom in the heart of winter.  It’s called the snowflake shrub*: when flowering, it resembles a mass of delicate white snowflakes.

The interesting thing about this shrub is that if you plant it beside a light source that isn’t natural – like a street light – it refuses to flower.

It will only flower on the side away from the artificial light.

It only responds to the real thing; artificial input shuts down its natural instinct to bloom.

I bow deeply before the savage wisdom of this little shrub.


*Euphorbia leucocephala