There’s something about seeds that fascinates me deeply. Of course, there’s that unbelievable splitting of cells into a new life, all growing up seemingly from nothing, just light and soil and water. That in itself is a miracle.
But, at least for me, there’s something even more… how could I say it? More important? Yes, it sounds strange to define something that’s more important than the miracle of life, but then again, at least for me, there is something.
And that’s the dark gap between the seeding and the first sprout coming out form the dirt. That part, that hidden story that happens before you can actually see some leaves piercing upwards to the sun, that part fascinates me. I mean, there’s not a single speck of light in there. It’s all dark. It’s empty. Sheer nothingness surrounding a bet. The bet that whatever lies within that seed will pierce forward, will somehow find a way upwards, will crawl and push and stretch towards the light.
What is the size of hope in that seed? How much trust can you pack in it? How much energy should force itself into that tiny blob, then switch into a dormant state, ready to explode in a gentle unfolding of delicate vegetable layers, when all conditions are met?
And yet, it happens all the time. Whatever lies within that seed, it eventually finds a way out. And all you have to do is wait. And have hope.
Yes, I know, you have to do a little bit more than that. You have to water it every once in a while, you know, tend to it somehow. But still, all you do during that underground activity is merely watching. The bulk of the work is already happening without you, and it’s hidden. You don’t even have a clue whether it’s happening at all, to be honest.
I believe that this underground, silent fight is the most important part in the life of a flower. Once you get to see the light, well, from that point onwards is an easy ride. From the moment you get access to light, it’s all predictable – you can get extra energy and you have established a connection.
Whereas during the hidden part, you’re not seeing anything. You’re disconnected, alone, surrounded by dead matter. You’re not guaranteed anything. You’re just hoping that whatever was packed into you, will be enough to get you to the other side.
You need tremendous strength to resist during that hidden part. You need trust. You need faith, in the most common, unreligious sense of the word.
Because you’re literally stumbling in the dark, with no help whatsoever, relying only on the promise that whatever you set up to do, you will do.
By now you should have realized that I’m not talking about flowers anymore.