Serendipidus
Venetia’s heart sank as she came across a garden of plants wilting lifeless in the stale air. A smell of rank decay permeating from the dying leaves that were still green but under further examination the plants were struggling to live.
Once upon a time in the beautiful gardens of the nunnery were she was raised plants bloomed and vegetation prospered sharing its bounty with humanity. Now the plants had nothing more to give. Why should the plants give any more? Venetia thought to herself. We have not given anything back.
She sat down among the dying vegetation and cried. Across the globe she and Poindexter traveled, yet no one was able to give them condolences or even answers. How can life be spared? How can everyone give up so easily? She thought.
A Buddhist monk appeared dressed in an ordinary man’s clothes. There was nothing special about the man – no pretense or superiority. The only thing that made him seem any different than any other man was he walked with such greater assurance. How can be so assured at a time like this?
“All you have to do is breathe?” said the monk calmly.
“How can I breathe when the air is so still and so stale?” asked Venetia.
“Because it’s all you have at this very moment,” replied monk.
The fret and worry showed on her face. Breathing was such a natural part of existence, why should she even try? It’s not solving the problems of the world to sit around and do nothing.
The monk sat before Venetia and closed his eyes. He began to breathe conscious of every breathe that flowed in him and out of him. His nostrils flared and constricted; his belly rose and flatten and then a serene smile crossed his face. Oddly he was at peace at such a precarious time. Perhaps he meditated on a different time in a different life.
“As we breathe,” said the monk still and with his eyes closed, “we breathe life not only within ourselves but to everything we are connected to – the earth, the trees, the plants, the bird, the animals. All we need to do is breathe.”
Venetia closed her eyes and focused on her breathe – the cool sensation as it flowed into her nose and the warm as it flowed out. With each breath brought calmness and peace. Maybe the way to die is to continue breathing until we naturally stopped. She gave it a try.
As she sat crossed legged and breathing the wilted plants grew stronger with her natural synergy with nature. The musty scent of decaying leaves was overcome with the sweet aroma of newly formed blossoms. It was a magnificent feeling as once again she grew strength from nature. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find herself sitting in a thriving garden. The stems and buds arched toward the sky in hopes of new life.
Once upon a time in the beautiful gardens of the nunnery were she was raised plants bloomed and vegetation prospered sharing its bounty with humanity. Now the plants had nothing more to give. Why should the plants give any more? Venetia thought to herself. We have not given anything back.
She sat down among the dying vegetation and cried. Across the globe she and Poindexter traveled, yet no one was able to give them condolences or even answers. How can life be spared? How can everyone give up so easily? She thought.
A Buddhist monk appeared dressed in an ordinary man’s clothes. There was nothing special about the man – no pretense or superiority. The only thing that made him seem any different than any other man was he walked with such greater assurance. How can be so assured at a time like this?
“All you have to do is breathe?” said the monk calmly.
“How can I breathe when the air is so still and so stale?” asked Venetia.
“Because it’s all you have at this very moment,” replied monk.
The fret and worry showed on her face. Breathing was such a natural part of existence, why should she even try? It’s not solving the problems of the world to sit around and do nothing.
The monk sat before Venetia and closed his eyes. He began to breathe conscious of every breathe that flowed in him and out of him. His nostrils flared and constricted; his belly rose and flatten and then a serene smile crossed his face. Oddly he was at peace at such a precarious time. Perhaps he meditated on a different time in a different life.
“As we breathe,” said the monk still and with his eyes closed, “we breathe life not only within ourselves but to everything we are connected to – the earth, the trees, the plants, the bird, the animals. All we need to do is breathe.”
Venetia closed her eyes and focused on her breathe – the cool sensation as it flowed into her nose and the warm as it flowed out. With each breath brought calmness and peace. Maybe the way to die is to continue breathing until we naturally stopped. She gave it a try.
As she sat crossed legged and breathing the wilted plants grew stronger with her natural synergy with nature. The musty scent of decaying leaves was overcome with the sweet aroma of newly formed blossoms. It was a magnificent feeling as once again she grew strength from nature. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find herself sitting in a thriving garden. The stems and buds arched toward the sky in hopes of new life.
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