wildflower redux

In my last post, I forgot about wildflowers.

When I lived in the Ahrimanic wormhole that I just described, I believed that no one loved me and, worse, that no one would ever love me again.

I just couldn't handle people because, well, mostly because the people I loved most dearly had let me down. I mean, if my daughter could no longer love me, how could I expect anyone else to?

I fell into the wormhole because I believed I was all alone in the cosmos, for all eternity.

But, in spite of my rigid determination to never love or be loved again, people began to appear in my life like unstoppable wildflowers. You know how wildflowers can pop up just about any old where. One day a meadow can be only grassy green and the next day it can be a field of white, wild daisies or blue bluebonnets.

At first, I told myself these wildflower people were noxious weeds, sent to trick me into feeling love again. How I struggled to suppress these noxious weeds. As I resisted people, I thrashed in the wormhole and got hurt over and over and over.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, I allowed myself to step outside of my suffering for fleeting moments, to enjoy the wildflower person who had shown up. Quickly, I would resume my suffering. It was so scary, it seemed the height of risk, to enjoy another human being's company after losing my daughter. But people kept persistently showing up, like wildflowers that take root along an urban freeway.