The Art Of Receiving

I am struck by the creamy,

Yellow primroses.

Just sitting there in all their soft beauty and receiving.

Receiving nourishment from the spring sunlight.

Receiving nourishment from the rich,

Dark earth.

Receiving nourishment from fat droplets of rain.

They sit there and endlessly receive,

Receive,

Receive.

And they do it,

Apparently,

With complete ease.

No,

They don't do it.

They allow it.

They allow everything that is needed to be given and given and given.

And because of it,

They thrive.

And because they thrive,

They give.

They give beauty,

Yes,

So much beauty.

But they also give their nectar to early spring pollinators.

So vital,

So necessary,

So essential to the intricate web of life.

How glorious that this is the way it is.

That receiving must happen in order to give.

Imagine if those primroses felt too unworthy,

Or too guilty,

Or too selfish to receive.

Imagine if they blocked all the sustenance that wanted to flow to them.

Imagine how the whole web would be broken.

How I long to deeply embody the wisdom of the primrose,

To lap up the sunlight,

To gulp down the rain,

To absorb the earth's goodness,

To allow everything that is necessary for my thriving to flow to me without an inch of guilt,

Without a speck of unworthiness,

Without the heavy aftermath of feeling selfish.

To simply soak it all up in a completely natural way and then bloom,

And bloom,

And give,

And give,

And receive,

And receive.

Receive,

Thrive,

Give.

Yes,

Surely this is the way it's meant to be.

I will become like the primrose.