In the end of days there is no role for a flower, even a religious one. Perhaps that is why the cultivation of said blossoms seems an irrelevant past time for a culture caught up in a waiting game for the end that doesn’t know about the beginning or the middle, the other parts.
If the principle is: we are all connected, then I argue that the flower does matter, as does the stem and the root. And certainly, the earth beneath is of grave importance, even though it is forgotten by many and seen as background for a life led unconsciously. Houses are bought and sold, cars driven off cliffs of desperation all carried out on the earth that is always grinding, working, responding with the grace of a lover to the ministrations of few. But, but…what about me? cries humanity. What about you?
Do you matter, do you exist? From the persepective of a bee or flower or brilliantly speckeled bug chewing a leaf in the sacred light of morning, you only matter in that you interact with the slim white spire of the lily. You are not good or evil, you merely are—mindless. How can we feel connected to one another when we can’t feel connected to the soil, or the leaf, or the flower?
And in the background of the world nature continues to shape, strive, leap, clinging to the next branch in calm contemplation of the current state.