There is nobility in the unconditional broadcast of the tender, fragile vulnerability and impermanence of the rose. All flowering flowers have a thread in common with my own existence.
I am not unbreakable, I am not infinitely strong, I’m not physically immortal.
There is a difference between Rose and I. It is a clear message, a loud lesson. Why do I see any need for defence or attack? Where is the will to attack or defend situated within Rose?
Rose makes no judgement and no distinction concerning the recipient of its fragrant beauty. It has a nobility of presence inherited from its humility. I see even the thorns on the rose as an affirmation of its non-aggression, through its need to defend its own longevity, however brief.
Wherever I may stroll, nobility – this sacred quality of all alive life – can become apparent to and “ping” my consciousness with a little inrush of grace.
The nobility of life in its consummation resides in its wild untamed acceptance of humility as it goes on its singular way towards the collective meaning of its individual death
The View at 72+ 