In the high country, except for the area around the trail, all is wilderness. One can see the whole cycle of life—the seedling, the giant tree, the fallen log, and out of its decay new life.
The wondrous persistence of life can be found in the most unexpected conditions.
A bare stone rises out of a tarn high above tree line. The wind blows a bit of organic debris into one of its crevices, and flowers bloom there.
A fern crowns the stump of a long dead tree.
A seed of blue spruce lands between two slabs of granite. If left undisturbed, it will push those heavy stones aside, and grow to a tall and mighty being.
Even in the city, life persists. A tuft of green has emerged through the pavement in the street in front of my house.
Such intention! I have long thought that the nature of intention was best illustrated by the seed that awakens under pavement. We’ve all seen the result of such intention as we fuss to weed our driveways and patios. But imagine for a moment what it might be like to be that seed. It doesn’t bitch; it simply intends to grow, gently, persistently toward the light. Light, light, light. And the pavement cracks.
Sometimes it seems that life throws a huge slab of concrete over our goals and desires. It can be very heavy, extremely discouraging. Yet the human spirit is even mightier than the seed. With intention to grow toward the light, even the heaviest barrier can be breached. It may be a different form of the life than we had before, like the fern crowning the stump of a long dead tree, or the soft mosses that grow from the decaying log.
But if we do not give up, flowers can bloom from rock, new life can emerge. If you feel you have buried in concrete, think of the seed.