Sometimes I discover something rare. A flower blooms in a remote corner of the high desert that I have never seen. It is at the edge of its usual range so it does not arise as often as other species in its genus. But here it is, now, at my feet, in the sandy bed of an ancient Pleistocene river that ceased to flow thousands of years ago. The clusters of sticky yellow throats (Phacelia bicolor) exhibiting every bit of their common name, overwhelm me with a sense of wonder. This feeling of auspiciousness for no apparent reason is ineffable, even though I am trying to express in words.
It is my primary spiritual practice to discover the rarities in life that leave me speechless. If my discursive mind can be rendered into silence for only a moment, the practice has served its purpose. But this can never be planned. It happens when I am willing to go off the beaten path and see what I do not see when blinded by strong filters of expectation. These little purple tubular flowers with bright yellow throats call to me like in an echo of soundless mini-trumpets. They invite me to be more than my thoughts.
Yet, here I am writing about the experience. I suppose it is a writer’s curse to apply words to something that cannot be described. Maybe the poet is stuck in the same mire.
Auspicious blooming beauty
Now is always rare
Now blooms inside breath
Heartbeats echo the moment
Rare is always now