I came across a patch of Queen Anne’s lace in the woods about a month ago. Queen Anne’s lace, also known as wild carrot, is a plant I’ve loved since I was small, when I was told it was a weed and not the lovely flower I saw. I still find it odd that a weed is named for a queen’s delicate lace, it’s tiny dark red center poetically representing a drop of blood from her needle-pricked finger. Apparently, it also bears a close resemblance to the poisonous hemlock, and one is cautioned to be careful if planning to eat it. This is not a weed. It’s a short story on a stem. What makes a weed and what a flower? Who decides?
Presumably a weed grows where it shouldn’t. This doesn’t necessarily make it a bad thing. In fact, so-called weeds often serve a positive purpose. In the case of Queen Anne’s lace, when it’s native to the area, it attracts wasps and sometimes butterflies and can boost tomato production. But in the wrong area, it’s considered noxious and a pest.
There is much that seems dualistic or is revealed to be something other than it is. “Optics” has become a buzzword. Optics are used to influence how we will interpret or view the facts and seem to play as important a role as the facts. And while we’d like to think we are immune to that influence, the truth is we are all sensitive to appearances or our perception of things. We do make judgments and decisions based on optics. Is a panel of women asking the questions or a panel of men? Is the panel multiracial or one race? Young or old or mixed? We create entire stories based on images. We also know that optics often don’t tell the whole story, that they can be a fiction.
The best we can do at any given moment is see past the fiction to the truth, knowing the truth can sometimes be a matter of perception. When we find out the flower is a weed, we always have the option to recalibrate. Can I still love a weed? Not always. Sometimes? Absolutely. Because in the end, we’re all like Queen Anne’s lace.
Divine Ready 