Homage to a Very Proud Flower.....

Shortly after Jesus saved me at 14, a mentor gave me a copy of "the Little Prince" by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. Little did I know this book would be a reflection of my life.  Then 18 years later I married my wife whose name means Flower in Cambodian.  Then last night after another severe argument that came directly from the pain of my addiction and the fear of her protective shell of avoidance. I remembered the conversation below as the little prince left his planet and the flower that he loved so much.   This morning, my wife was ironing one of my shirts as I walked into our room to get dressed.  She said, "I am not ironing this shirt for you, I am ironing it because it is wrinkled."  She is such a proud flower indeed! This moment erupted tears from my heart. I went to my son's room, found the copy of the Little Prince and read the chapters below in tears as I began to connect again with my heart, my wife, my God.      The Little Prince - Chapter 7 - 8  On the fifth day, the secret of the little princes life was revealed to me.  Abruptly, without anything to lead up to it, and as if the question had been born of long and silent meditation on his problem, he demanded: "A sheep - if it eats little bushes, does it eat flowers, too? "A sheep" I answered, "eats anything it finds in its reach." "Even flowers with thorns" "Yes, even flowers with thorns."   "Then the thorns - what use are they?" ...."They have thorns out of spite." "I do not believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are naive. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons....."  "And you actually believe that flowers have thorns out of spite!?" I soon learned to know this flower better.  One the little Prince's planet the flower had always been very simple.  They had only one ring of petals; they took up no room at all; they were a trouble to nobody. One morning they would appear in the grass, and by night they would have faced peacefully away. But one day, from a seed blown from no one knows where, a new flower had come up;  and the little prince had watched very closely over this small sprout which was not like any other small sprouts on his planet.  It might, you see, have been a new kind of baobab (possibly growing so big to overtake his little planet).  But the shrub soon stopped growing, and began to get ready to produce a flower.  The little prince, who was present at the first appearance of a huge bud, felt at once that some sort of miraculous apparition must emerge from it.  But the flower was not satisfied to complete the preparations for her beauty in the shelter of her green chamber.  She chose her colours with the greatest care. She dressed herself slowly. She adjusted her petals one by one.  She did not wish to go out into the world all rumpled, like the field poppies.  It was only in the full radiance of her beauty that she wished to appear.  On, yes! She was a coquettish creature! And her mysterious adornment lasted for days and days.  Then one morning, exactly at sunrise, she suddenly showed herself.  And, after working with all this pains-taking precision, she yawned, and said:"Ah! I am scarcely awake, I Beg that you will excuse me. My petals are still disarranged........"But the little prince could not restrain his admiration; "OH! How beautiful you are!" "Am I not?" the flower responded, sweetly. "And I was born at the same moment as the sun....." The little prince could guess easily enough that she was not any too modest - but how moving - and exciting she was! "I think it is time for breakfast," she added an instant later.  "If you would have the kindness to think  of my needs -" And the little prince, completely abashed, went to look for a sprinkling-can of fresh water. So, he tended the flower. So, too, she began very quickly to torment him with her vanilty - which was, if the truth be known, a little difficult to deal with. One day, for instance, when she was speaking of her four thorns, she said to the little prince:   "Let the tigers come with their claws!"  "There are no tigers on my planet," the prince objected. "And anyway, tigers do not eat weeds."  "I am not a weed," the flower replied.  "Please excuse me ....."  "I am not at all afraid of tigers," she went on, "but i have a horror of draughts. I suppose you wouldn't have a screen for me?" "A horror of draughts - that is bad luck, for a plant," remarked the little prince, and added to himself, "This flower is a very complex creature..." "At night I want you to put me under a glass globe. It is very cold where you live. in the place where I came from -  " But she interrupted herself at that point.  She had come in the form of a seed. She could not have known anything of any other worlds.  Embarrassed over having let herself be caught on the verge of such a naive untruth, she coughed two or three times, in order to put the little prince in the wrong. "The screen?" "I was just going to look for it when you spoke to me -" Then she forced her cough a little more so that he should suffer from remorse just the same. So the little prince in spite of all the good will that was inseparable from his love, had soon come to doubt her. He had taken seriously the words, which were without importance, and it made him very unhappy. "I ought not to have listened to her,"  he confided to me one day. "One never ought to listen to the flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe their fragrance. Mine perfumed all my planet.   But I did not know how to take pleasure in all her grace.  This tale of claws, which disturbed me so much, should only have filled my heart with tenderness and pity." And he continued his confession; " The fact is that I did not know how to understand anything!  I ought to have judged her by deeds not by words. She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me.  I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her...." On the morning of his departure from his planet, the little prince put his planet in perfect order. And when he watered the flower for the last time, and prepared to place her under the shelter of her glass globe, he realized that he was very close to tears. "Goodbye" he said to the flower.But she made no answer."Goodbye" he said again. The flower coughed. But is was not because she was cold.  "I have been silly." she said to him at last. "I ask your forgiveness. Try to be happy...." He was surprised by this absence of reproaches. He stood there all bewildered, glass globe held arrested in mid-air. He did not understand this quiet sweetness.  "Of course I love you," the flower said to him, " It is not my fault that you have not known it all the while. That is of no importance.  But you - you have been just as foolish as I. Try to be happy.  Let the glass globe be. I don't want it.  "But the wind...." "My cold is not so bad as all that... The cool night air will do me good. I am a flower." "But the animals ...'  "Well I must endure the presence of two or three butterflies - and the caterpillars - If I wish to become acquainted with them. It seems that they are very beautiful. And if not the butterflies - and the caterpillars - who will call upon me?  You will be far away ... as for the large animals - I am not at all afraid of any of them. I have MY claws." And naively, she showed her four thorns. Then she added: "Don’t linger like this. You have decided to go away, Now go." For she did not want him to see her crying.   She is such a proud flower.... My addiction tells me that my flowers thorns are spite.  This is not true. They are naive weapons to protect her from her own pain.  She can not tell me she loves me.  She can not be humble while she is in pain which disturbed me so much, but should only have filled my heart with tenderness and pity.     She is such a proud Flower.   My addiction is my weakness.  She can not show me that she is afraid when my addiction drags me off into the woods. I ought to have judged her by deeds not by words. She is such a proud flower. My good will is inseparable from my love for her. When my addictions will takes over my body, I am separated from my love for her. She rages and attacks with her four little thorns. I ought never to have run away from her...  She is such a proud flower.  When my God rescues me from the tall weeds, settles my anxiety, he lays me down next to my sweet gentle flower, She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me.  My addiction tells me I am worthless, vile and unlovable.  "Of course I love you,"  the flower said to him, " It is not my fault that you have not known it all the while. She is such a proud flower.