Unto the Daisy low —
Transported with Compassion
That such a Doll should grow
Where Tent by Tent — Her Universe
Hung out its Flags of Snow —
Never hesitate to stoop and help one less able, as the ancient wise woman would stoop, creaking joints and all, to water the wildflowers in her garden. As with this and animal rescue and more, all life needs a helping hand at times. If I fall … no, when I fall … who will stoop to help if I have never done so? Or even if I have, who will see me growing low and hidden in my solitude? Will they stoop? Will I? The apparently immovable can indeed be “transported with compassion.”
Flags of snow, glacial chalices, perky petals surround the core … a transplant, a volunteer, appears in the garden unexpected, a doll among the vital mystery already well-established … odd one out. It’s strange to know oneself as different from the rest, the realization often comes on slowly with a test to mark the Truth. To accept one’s difference and yet embrace also the desire within to be one of the group, an instinct for survival that is constantly triggered setting up the internal conflict that can appear outwardly as indecisive or selfish or aloof and without care, unable to commit to others’ demands of oneself because that would mean death.
To move or be moved from one place to another takes will, courage, and compassion for oneself among the challenges and fears that often bring on the cascade of tears. Among a new land, we can be a soul hidden beneath the canopy of tents that can be cold concrete scraping the sky or forests deep that paint rainbows upon blue canvas; choose within which one we intend to sleep come winter chill. Move our fragile flower under an eave or bower for safety, don’t let the cold freeze or shadows darken too soon our narrow petals reaching out to connect.