old rhododendron

I am standing with an old rhododendron tree, high in the foothills of the Himalaya. The tree is gnarled and twisted. There's a huge cavity in its trunk. Various limbs are missing, long since dropped away. The leaves are looking rather tired and limp. And until a few days ago, this tree was looking very old. It has a beauty, with its mossy bark, and its timelessness.

But now, from nowhere, it has blossomed, and it is covered in red flowers, bunches of red flowers, scarlet, bright red. Who would have expected it?

It's magic. From nowhere, flowers come. Even on this tree that seems half dead with age, suddenly there are flowers. And this reminds me, of course, of our buddha nature: hidden away, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, when we are not even looking for it, it's there, and we've blossomed.

This tree is a wonder. Just standing with it seems a privilege. It feels like I'm standing with an old master, that has much to teach me.