Dust

Think and analyze with parsimony.
“Why?” has no answer.
Remain silent.
Grace is everywhere.
In the slow rise of the moon, no matter where you are.
In a blade of grass, in the tenderness of your gestures, in your daily bread.
No need to worry — from dust you rose, dust you shall be.
Grace is not fussy.

Kenza.

Accompanying music: “Song of the universal” by Ola Gjeilo, listen here

Inspiration: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” – Ash Wednesday, reminding us to be humble and joyful, always joyful. 

The tree

The tree spreads its roots. The tree opens its branches to the sky and offers them for little birds to nest. It flowers with full splendor, and gives fruits and shade. The tree also brings rain.

The tree is potential displayed unabashed.

The tree is divine for its very existence, humble for its splendor, and generous for its nature.

The tree is not alone. All elements of nature display their beauty and give without limits. The moon shines and the sun warms. The night sky and the clouds are there for all to admire. Immense galaxies churn across the limitless universe. No tinkering is needed.

Mankind may have been thus once. Today, he is a being perpetually busy, disconnected from the cycle of day and night and seasons. Mankind is increasingly immersed in unhealthy dynamics of needing objects that add nothing to his being nor give to others. But for a few exceptions, he rarely looks up at the sky nor takes the time to remain in harmony with nature. A stunning sunset has become an exception; and to see beauty, he has to stand in line at a museum. Charity and compassion have become emotions displayed in full view, rather than natural and discreet inclines of his very existence. Anything that cannot be rationalized or objectified is rejected, even love, even grace.

The tree still stands effortlessly giving beauty without a spec of pride, but rather with infinite and divine humility. Mankind could learn a thing or two from the tree.

Kenza.

Inspirations: incomprehension of this busy and noisy world; love of trees; and the divine, the Tao. 

The chrysanthemum

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Long after all the flowers have faded

the chrysanthemum blooms alone.

Under grey skies, amidst the first frost,

its petals flutter with the wind from the north.

And yet, it is not November

but the month of May.

And yet, it has graced me with its beauty,

its fragrance filling my lonely heart.

Kenza.


Photo taken at home today of a bouquet of chrysanthemum. It was a gift from my nine year old son who knows I love this flower because it dares to bloom alone.