A small girl, no older than eight years old, stands among a
dusty plain. Her hair is golden beneath the ash and dirt that has painted the top of her head, like snow flurries grasping to the edge of a rocky cliff. Her dress was once blue,
the color of a sunlit sky, and there is an embroidered collar adorning the neck
of the dress that has begun to fall off and dangle underneath her hair.
There is a man standing next to her that appears to be
angrily screaming in her face. His gray hair is wild like the snakes that grew from
Medusa’s head. His suit that was once black and neatly pressed, has begun to
look more like the continued fading that his age and rage have brought unto his
wrinkled face.
Behind the girl, an explosion has erupted from the dusty
earth as a result of rocketing hatred from forces unseen. The warmth of the
fire that has torn away its capsuled metal home can be felt scorching her back
and the left side of her face. It lights up the sky brighter than the sun, and
yet she stands there unwavering and embracing its warmth.
Tanks are driving up behind her, and what seems like hundreds of men, woman,
and children are being dragged by their arms by one another, running from the terror occurring
around her. The screams and the ear ringing brought on by nearby explosives have drowned out the birds chirping
and the winds whisper, and yet it looks as if she can hear their songs.
The sky has gone beige from the dust and smoke in the air.
It appears to swirl around this calamitous scene with its very own mission of
devastation. Like an evil apparition that has broken free from the violent cracks in
the earth, it is adding to the madness surrounding all who are present on the
plain with wild and whipping gusts of dirt and rock.
But here is this little girl, still unwavering. Her eyes
have closed and her lips have formed a gentle smile. She holds a flower between both
of her hands that she harvested this morning near the river bank when she went to
gather water. The look on her face is of pure peacefulness and gratitude just as when she picked it.
She seems unaware to everything that surrounds her at the
moment, and yet we know that is impossible. How does she do it, continue to
stand in the middle of the chaos and remain filled with peace? How does she
maintain a smile, when pain surrounds her? How does she hold on to the flower,
when the sky rains ash around her? How does she find her strength, this small
child, when everything around her seems much larger than she is?
She trusts. She holds on to a vibration of joy and focuses
on the flower, rather than the falling sky. Her courage is great because she knows
she is much larger than she appears. She is part of something infinite, and right
now her purpose is love just as it was yesterday, and just as it will be
tomorrow. She doesn’t forget. That is all she needs to do.
For those of us, who have stopped running, and taken time to
notice the girl, she has captivated our attention. It becomes much easier to
focus on the love radiating from her than the chaos surrounding her. A bit of peace begins to course through
our veins that was absent a moment ago.
We embrace this way she has shared with us, and find
ourselves closing our eyes. Our mouths begin to turn into gentle smiles as we
can't help but picture the girl in our minds. She is no longer one little girl holding a flower. She has become many little girls holding a flower by touching our hearts with her light. Now, as we carry her light within each of us, we can carry the gift to share with others.
Now close your eyes and see this little girl, then receive the gift she is offering all of us.
And so it is.
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