[~ 9 minutes ]
Listening to: Sarah Brightman, In the air
It happened in a quiet corner of an Italian orto botanico, close to the medicinal garden patch.
Love at first sight. You know the feeling?
Not the “overwhelming rush of wild passion” kind, though. A slow, smouldering fascination of the mind. A quiet yearning to meet again…
My first encounter with a lotus pond wrought an unexpected change inside me, one that no plant had ever achieved.
I wouldn’t precisely call it an obsession; I am not seized by sudden bouts of lotus-centric rambling at the dinner table, nor have I sold all my belongings to travel east in search of lotuses; I don’t even consider them my favourite flower.
However, there’s a seed buried in the muddy bottoms of my mind, one that whispers, One day you’ll grow them yourself. You shall get a seed, or a rhizome, and a small cosmic miracle will unfold in your terrace.
It is in no particular hurry to sprout, this seed; it knows how to wait.
Yet, just by virtue of it being present, it turned me into a lotus hunter.