A Bulb of Meaning: A Writer Wednesday Post

An old friend and I spoke of meaning yesterday.

An event like the one in Boston begets questions: Why? What does it mean? Is there even such a thing as meaning anymore? Did those responsible grow up without a sense of meaning? Did they hope for meaning by this act? Meaning seems to disappear at such a time. But ultimately, I believe meaning appears in response to our attempt to grasp it.

In case you’re wondering, yes, I am still glad to be human, even after this event. The worst in people can bring out the best in people.

Acts of caring and meaning and beauty blossomed all over Boston: runners who kept on running to the Red Cross to donate blood; courageous workers who responded medically and strategically; people offering beds for runners stranded in the city; others buying strangers coffee as a random act of kindness, or handing out granola bars. And not just Boston—today there are people running all over the country in a Run For Boston started by some marathoners in Texas.

Like the squill in the bulb, meaning may not always be evident. But cultivated by the power of our intention and the warmth of our attention, it will appear. Different in every garden, to be sure. But rise it will.

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