One frog in the pond

It is one thing to be sad and to mourn. It is even understandable to believe someone is acting out in frustration and anger. These are reactions to grief.

The pond is full of life, dancing in the light, sparkling and sprinkling, bumping up against and rubbing sides with every other entity that is there. Each ripple creates hundreds of new ripples so that the pond is one undulating rhythmic symphony of sound, feelings and motion.

From the dark murky comfort of the mud below to the least bright drop of dew above, it is all connected.

One frog croaking on his lily pad can add enough dissonance to make every other part of this scene less than the idyll it could become.

Blurring the light, fracturing the ripples, destroying the beauty and peace of a wonderful pond will not bring back the bloom that once held him in stunned awe, but has now disappeared.

No matter how many times he pushes pebbles into the water; no matter how many angry plops he makes leaping in and splatting down on whatever he can hit; no matter how strident his song becomes: the lotus that is gone forever will not return.

He simply makes it harder for any others to rise from the depths below. He denies himself and others the blessings lying in wait, trying to rise up into the light through unremitting darkness.

One frog in the pond can make such a difference.