Wild Orchids

Before I begin, if this post's title has excited you and you have stumbled across my humble little blog expecting some saucy action between Mickey Rourke and Carré Otis, I'm sorry to have to disappoint you. I will, however, compensate by sharing this quick pic just for you:

There. Happy now? 

That's as raunchy as this post gets but you're more than welcome to stick around and read on x

Now, back to the Orchids.

In my back garden lives a terracotta pot. From it's heart grow the orchids. They grow wild, for I never tend to them. I keep meaning to, and one day soon, I will.

My father brought home this pot over 15 years ago. It was a present from the college where he was teaching architecture. My father had decided to resign from his position to pursue his real passion, performing and composing music. In this pot stood one lone orchid, straight and proud. I, too, was proud of my father. He had made a brave decision to be true to his heart and live his passion. This inspires me everyday.

I never really remember noticing the orchids again until 7 and a half years ago when my father died.
We were having a clear out of the garden when I found the pot. It was filled with grey shrivelled stalks and weeds. I was going to throw it out when I noticed a shiny purple stalk. Hope in the darkness. It was alive.

I watched over the next few week as the stalk grew, producing little buds. One morning while taking out the laundry I noticed the first bloom. It was glorious. Nature's beauty. The bloom was joined by others. I revelled in their magnificence. I cut some to take to the cemetery on Dad's birthday.

 I am not a gardener. I can't even keep a pot of parsley alive. How do these orchids grow so majestically, year after year? I want to be like those orchids. We all should be. They shed all that no longer nourishes them and are reborn. Life comes from the light and warmth of the sun, the drops of rain from the sky. They live simply. All that they will ever really need to be magnificent is already lying within them.

The old terracotta pot is struggling to contain them. The roots and stems are bursting out the top. But the orchids are not struggling. They are climbing higher and higher reaching for the sun, bowing their heads in reverence. I like to believe that they're paying homage to my Dad.
We should all be reaching for that sun and living with passion. I'm trying to. x

Are you letting your Magnificence shine?