Dalila the Dandelion

Two matches when lit on fire then placed next to each other and if close enough, will burn eternally together. They were grown in a small town in the eastern part of the world. It is funny people named it a dandelion because when the sun kissed it the glow that it exuded resembles what can only be the reflection of a specific version of the sun. If you happen to come across one that hasn’t fully bloomed, you would be tempted to pluck one up, severing the corpse of such a gift into two and blowing away the connections it took a lifetime to grow. You do this in hopes of being granted a wish which we both know is pathetic. Such a gift should only be left to grow and to bloom into something that can stand in the suns’ way and reflect to the human eye the closest thing it would ever come to staring directly into the sun. Although most of the time people do this to dandelions, the only explanation I have is that from the premature death of what would become beautiful is the mere theft of the power that it takes to create something in life.

I had that same urge when I came across a dandelion. And from the time I encountered it to when I left it, it seemed an entire lifetime had passed by. It drank from the darkest of soils and what was subsequent to that was the vibrant green flesh that held its body together. To the top of the body was an imaginable circle that could be made from the white branches that stretched outwards through connections. I stepped closer and soon as I was about to commit the same blasphemy that many before and hopefully few after me did and do, I realized one thing and that was that if I ripped this poor dandelion apart and made a wish which I’m not sure myself I believe in, I will be cutting its life short with the prior knowledge of its tremendous potential. My realization was that I was unable to appreciate what was in front of me. I was unable to comprehend what was to be versus what was now. I realized something which resembled hell. A much better description of hell can be found in the words of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. He said, “What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.” I then imagined myself a dandelion and whether I would want to be ripped in half and someone blew hot air mixed with saliva into my face hoping to have a wish come true. No! quite frankly why would someone do such a thing?

I couldn’t understand why anyone would, but I was getting ready to do the same a few moments ago. I’m glad I did not because the most I could do was to let it be and wait for the dandelion to blossom through the appreciation of its true potential. If you treat small things in your life with brute force and disrespect, how do think you will treat yourself or others? Life is so complex yet somehow, we have found a way to make it seem so straightforward. It is always wrong against right, a perfect phrase when an acronym spells war. It is more than that. It is about not living in hell, the hell defined in the previous paragraph. It is about being able to love. Loving Dalila. She was a dandelion that had been left to blossom. That same glow was what tied them both together. Dalila did not possess a green body, but the darkest skin man had ever laid eyes on. Her hair, not a single yellow like a dandelion. It was more so like her skin. YES! It was so black! I remember it all now, her eyes were the same color too, I think. Somehow when she stepped into the sun, she soaked in all the sun had to offer and became a precious stone that was living among humans. She made me realized how much I loved the sun, because only in the sunlight could her true form be revealed and as always, I’m in awe to be standing in front of her. I loved the small lines which looked like scars from her battle through life’s experiences and growth. She called them stretch marks, but I saw them as hidden memories.

I was so scared. I was scared to fall, and I mean I’ve heard stories of those the fell and lived to tell it. The fear of falling was so great that I fell. I was so scared to fall in love with her that I ended up falling in love with her. It was as if the more I feared getting too close the closer I got. The more I dreaded opening up to her, the wider I opened. The more I resisted her touch, the deeper I bonded with her. A precious stone with battle scars kissed by the sun is something no man can come across and wish harm or cause harm to but only love and appreciate. Moreover, be grateful to be standing in the presence of one. This was what those who fell came to speak of and gave all sorts of names, names such as Queens. Although hers was Dalila, she too carried in her soul a woman who in this life shall be called Queen. She shall be treated as such and through her, will be young ones who shall be future Kings and Queens themselves because such can only be the tale. Those who come from her will only carry on what she represents, a precious stone...you know how the rest goes.