An idiot waiting to blossom

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AN IDIOT WAITING TO BLOSSOM

Like most idiots, the flower remains tightly bound to its current course and holds stubbornly to a divine procedure. It must remain tightly bound and closed to the world for an allotted time before it is signalled to open slowly.  
Inside its complex being, there is held a kaleidoscope of colours, fragrances and beauty and the best kept secret . . . the ability to seed others just like it!
The idiot in the same picture, does this slightly differently -
Bound by time, as is the blossom, and sheltered from the world, as is the blossom, the idiot struggles and resists the natural divine procedure.
From within the idiot bloom, there arises chaos and an intimate internal struggle - one half wanting to remain closed and unseen and the other, wanting immediate exposure. Both . . . unnatural.
The idiot's struggle is both insecure and unsure, as well as ambitious and brave and whilst being natural ingredients for the right kind of elixir or environment, they are misplaced in this one. 
The insecurity is seated deep in the seed that once birthed it and the un-sureness too. Like most blossoms, they are formed upon the genetics of their predecessors and likewise, the idiot is no different. The struggle is ancestral and the fight is across time itself. 
The ambition, both needed and magnetic, fights against the insecurity, tugging at it and loathing it, whilst the bravery marches forward 'come hell or high water' and takes no prisoners. All of them resistant is some form or other.
This is not the case of our natural bloom, whose ability to wait patiently for the allotted moment of reckoning, is held gracefully and cradled by eternity itself.
All blossoms know that there is an an appointed time and place . . .
That their internal beauty will have its place upon the surface of the world and they will open up to the light of the sun, to be radiant.
The idiot . . .
Does not know that a day picked incorrectly, may not have a sun to shine upon it, to reveal its true beauty.
Does not know that opened prematurely, stunts its form and twists its beauty.
Does not know that it is perfect in every way, so the struggle is a waste of time.
Does not know that there is a perfect day for it, encoded into its cells and that it is unlocked precisely on time.
Does not know that even if it were cross pollinated with a noxious weed from the past, or memories of ancestral drought, the idiot's true form must come forth.
Lastly, does not know that it can surprise itself and the observers with its rare magic.
We can each be the blossom or the idiot in our own special way.

- Jaylee Balch -




















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