Dear Sor Juana,
Where have all the flowers gone? Have they really gone to graveyards? What are they doing here in the first place, randomly popping out of the cold, dark earth uninvited and seeds planted by flocks of visitors and breaths of air. There are daisies poking up in between the cracks, refusing to let the grey slate, rubble and silent slabs have all the say.
Yes, the flowers have really gone to graveyards everywhere. Playfully peeping through, places, that in winter were impenetrable, their little yellow heads and white bonnets dance around in defiance saying ‘look at me’ but not really caring if anyone is looking at all. They haven’t a care now that they have broken through their own grass ceiling (and that is how I am going to think of that metaphorical glass ceiling from now on!).
Searching for cracks is a pastime for critics, appreciating the blooms is for the mystics and creative. Improvising their way to the sunlight by moving around what might be in the way, navigating dark places and stony ground, the daisies find their way to the top, launching themselves into full view, naked.
Watching daisies find a place to call home and playing in the breeze is a gentle everyday reminder of what can grow in the dark; an invitation to keep the cracks appearing after all we know that is where the light gets in … it is also where seeds can be planted.
Courage’s consequence, planted in the imperfect crack, blooming for all the world to see. For having lived a life, for turning up, for waiting for the cold to go and sun to coax and coach you towards the light, resurrection is invited and promise fulfilled.