The Easter of Colors

I went out into the garden this sunny morning and saw that the yellow plum blossoms had opened, dazzling white flowers. The lawn was green and the leaves on the trees had grown back beautifully. For me, it was like a natural resurrection after months of winter. It was spring, it was Easter, it was hope reborn after a spiritual death and a dark period. The years had passed and others had reaped the fruits of my labor, but not the fruits of my prayers rising to the blue sky and traversing space and time to reach the master creator of all. This Easter is the one that heralds surrender, coming from God, who, when He gives, no one can hold back. For years I walked the path of our Lord Jesus Christ and received only criticism and blame. The judgment of others was swift and overly rational. Why doesn't she succeed in these projects she's invested so much in? She's been helped several times, and yet nothing has changed. She should stay home and continue taking care of her parents! And me, I gave you all my time and never asked for an accounting. For years I've been waiting for the reward for all my good deeds without compensation. My faith told me every year, "Hope in God," until my soul groaned that year. Total despair, but faith and prayer dwell within me. That painting in the garden immediately brought to mind the resurrection and the Holy Spirit, who renews all things within us.

This yellow plum tree, its whiteness bursting forth like a denial of winter's grayness, perfectly illustrates this passage from darkness to light.

It is often difficult for those around us to understand a path that doesn't conform to the "Cartesian" or material criteria of success. The blame and judgment of others are heavy burdens, especially when one has given their time and energy without counting the cost, out of pure selflessness.

That morning, the colors of the garden spoke to me; they were symbolic:

• The blossoming plum tree: It represents what I was experiencing internally. Even if others have reaped the fruits of my past labor, the current blossoming belongs to my own renewal. It is a promise of life that does not depend on the gaze of others.

• The resurrection: In this Easter season, my feelings resonate with the very essence of the Christian message: after the stripping away and silence of the tomb (or the winter of the soul), comes a strength that no one can hold back. • Divine surrender: This word takes on a sacred dimension. It is not a surrender of abandonment, but a trusting surrender into the hands of the Creator, the one who restores beyond time and space.

An inner recognition

The groaning of the soul I spoke of is often a sign that one is reaching the end of one's own strength to make way for a greater power. My prayers, which "transcend space and time," bear witness to a faith that has transcended mere practice to become a vital breath.

The world demands accountability and immediate results, but nature, like the Spirit, has its own timetable. This sunny morning seems to be the gentle answer to my long patience.

In symbolic and spiritual terms, this vision carries several messages that seem to resonate with my own journey:

• The triumph of light: The white of plum blossoms is often associated with purity and clarity of mind. Their appearance after a "dark period" shows that beauty can be reborn intact, untainted by past hardships or the judgments of others.

• The answer to silence: The plum tree is one of the first to bloom, sometimes even when the cold persists. It symbolizes perseverance and courage. For me, who has waited for years, these blossoms are tangible proof that the "Master Creator" forgets no root, even when the earth appears lifeless on the surface.

• A new fruit: If others have reaped the rewards of my past labors, this morning's blossoming is a free gift from heaven, a human "reward without reward," yet one filled with divine grace. It is a sign that my own season has finally arrived.

This spring scene is like a silent promise: just as the plum tree does not need the approval of men to flourish, my soul receives its own light today, directly from the source.

It is a magnificent and very powerful image. In the solitude of the garden, after so many years of silent labor and prayer, this greeting from the flowers feels like a sacred acknowledgment.

It is as if, where humankind has lacked gratitude or a benevolent gaze, Creation itself bows down to say to me: “We see you.” This greeting from the plum tree carries a very strong symbolism for my current situation:

• A fraternal presence: By greeting me, these flowers cease to be mere plants and become companions. They bear witness that I am no longer alone on this path of faith; the Holy Spirit uses the beauty of the world to offer you the welcome you deserve.

• The end of invisibility: By revealing themselves to me in this white brilliance, the flowers restore spiritual justice. They bloom for my eyes, like an intimate and direct reward from the Creator.

• An invitation to dialogue: A greeting often calls for a response. After the soul's groaning and despair, this greeting is a whisper of hope that says life flows once more within me and around me.

It is often said that nature is God's first book. This morning, it seems that He opened a page especially for me, written in letters of white flowers.

“True resurrection does not consist in recovering what has been lost, but in seeing a new whiteness emerge where one believed only in winter. Like plum blossoms, it does not ask permission from past seasons to bloom; it is the radiant “yes” of Life that erases with a stroke all the blame of humankind.”

In my journey, I understood that this is the passage from sacrifice to victory. I gave my time and my life for others, sometimes to the point of self-forgetfulness. The resurrection I witnessed this morning indicates that my "spiritual death" is drawing to a close and that the sovereignty of divine gift is undeniable: when God gives, no one can withhold. This blossoming is the first sign of an abundance destined for me personally, a portion that no one can take from me this time. The beauty after the lamentation, the whiteness of the petals, is all the more radiant as it follows the "dark period." It is the signature of the Holy Spirit, transforming pain into an aesthetic of light.

It is a special grace to receive this certainty on a spring morning.

To pay homage to this painting I contemplated, here is a description of the colors that inhabited the garden, as revealed by the light of the resurrection:

The Brilliant White (The plum blossoms)

This is a white that is not merely a color, but a source of light. It could be described as an immaculate white, almost silvery in the morning rays. It evokes the purity of linen, the purity of the garments of light in sacred narratives. It is a hue that seems to vibrate against the azure sky, symbolizing a clarity that tolerates no shadow, no blame, no stain of the past.

The Renaissance Green (The grass)

The green of the grass is a tender green, almost emerald. It is the color of rising sap, a green laden with water and life. Unlike the dark, weary green of summer, this one is luminous, carrying a freshness that quenches the soul. It represents the ground on which one can finally walk with confidence, a carpet of benevolence spread beneath my feet.

Celestial Blue (Space-Time)

The blue of the sky is a deep, clear blue, a stained-glass blue that seems to open onto infinity. It is the "blue sky" I spoke of, which holds nothing back and lets my prayers flow freely. It is a soothing color, an unchanging backdrop that recalls the constant presence of the Creator Master beyond human turmoil.

Promising Yellow (The Essence of the Plum Tree)

Even though the blossoms are white, the name of the tree—the yellow plum tree—brings a golden nuance to the mind. It is the yellow of honey or amber, the promise of fruit to come. It is a warm, sunny color, a reminder that sweetness is hidden within the bark, ready to manifest itself at God's appointed time.

These colors together form a visual liturgy. White and blue for purity and prayer, green for earthly hope.

This brilliant white is much more than a simple shade; it is the breaking point with darkness. It is the color of transition, the one that separates "before" from "after."

In my garden this morning, this white seems to carry three profound meanings:

• The Silence of Peace: After the criticism, the blame, and the noise of human judgment, this white is a sovereign silence. It does not seek to justify itself, it does not argue. It simply exists, pure and undeniable. It is the Creator's response to the "soul's groaning": a clarity that extinguishes disputes.

• Innocence Regained: This white is that of a fresh start. Despite the years in which others have reaped my fruits, this blossoming belongs to me. It symbolizes a spiritual virginity: the past is washed away, the pain is transfigured. I am no longer "the one who failed," I am the one who blossoms in the light of God.

• The Silence of Peace: After the criticism, the blame, and the noise of human judgment, this whiteness is a sovereign silence. It does not seek justification, it does not argue. It simply exists, pure and undeniable. • The Power of the Holy Spirit: The Holy Spirit is often compared to a dove or a white light. This brilliant white on the plum tree wood represents life triumphing over apparent death. It is a victorious color that proclaims that God's surrender is not an absence, but a gift so great that it dazzles those who view things too rationally.

It is a white that "greet" my perseverance. It tells me that my faith has not been in vain and that, like these petals, my soul has remained untouched through the winter of trials.

Then, I noticed the pink of the roses, especially after contemplating the eternal white, bringing a profoundly human and tender dimension to my garden. If white is the color of divinity and pure resurrection, pink is that of incarnation and the heart. The color of healing. Where white is dazzling and sometimes awe-inspiring, pink is a color of gentleness. For a soul that has groaned and suffered from blame, the pink of roses symbolizes the tenderness of God that comes to soothe the wounds. It is the color of healing flesh, of the balm that soothes after the burning of despair. The balance between earth and heaven. Pink is a mixture of red (passion, blood, human effort) and white (purity, the Spirit).

• Red recalls our labor, our years of journeying, and our trials.

• White brings peace and grace.

The pink rose is therefore the symbol of my transfigured humanity: my suffering is not erased, it is transformed into something beautiful and fragrant. In response to the harshness of the world, to the cold, "Cartesian" judgment of others, the rose offers its vibrant and nuanced color. Pink expresses a form of victorious vulnerability. It says that one can be sensitive, have been wounded, and yet blossom with an elegance that the rigidity of humankind will never know. Pink could represent the warmth of the life force. If white is the light of the Creator, pink is the warmth of His presence within us. It is the color of life flowing, of blood beating, of hope regaining its vibrancy.

I felt a leap through space-time by the power of the Spirit.

What I am describing is no longer a simple stroll through a garden, but a spiritual translocation. By crossing this "passage" through space-time by the power of the Spirit, I am leaving behind the linear chronology of humankind—the one where we count lost years, apparent failures, and debts—to enter Kairos, God's time.

The mechanics of this passage

• Transcended Space-Time: My prayers were not stuck in the past. Because they were carried by the Spirit, they traveled out of time to return to me today in the form of this "Eternal White." What I see in the plum tree is the material answer to an immaterial call made years ago.

• The Power of the Spirit: It acts as the driving force of this passage. It is what transmutes lamentation into light. It wasn't my own will that made the tree bloom; it was my surrender that allowed the Spirit to manifest this resurrection before my eyes.

• The Greeting of the Flowers: This greeting I felt was the signal that I had crossed the threshold. I am no longer on the side of those who wait; I am on the side of those who receive. This is a new authority.

By crossing this threshold, I left behind the weight of others' gaze. Their "overly Cartesian" judgments belong to a dimension I have left behind. They speak of a person who no longer exists, because resurrection creates a new being.

In this new space where I find myself, creation no longer occurs through effort, but through infusion.

This garden, this morning, has become my vibrant sanctuary. Every white petal, every blade of emerald green grass contributes to this new symphony that surrounds me.

In this vibrant silence, I already hear the first words or the first notes of what I must now share with the world? The Good News.

This is the birth of eternal blue.

If white is the light that strikes the eye, blue is the space that receives it; it is the color of infinity and the dwelling place of the Creator.

1. The Genesis of Eternal Blue

In my story, this blue would not be born from the sky, but from a sigh of relief after a long ordeal.

• “In the beginning, there was no distance, only the weight of the earth. Then, a prayer cleaved space-time, and in this tear was born Eternal Blue: an azure that knows no night.”

2. Blue as a Vibrational “Bridge”

Since I felt a shift in vibrations, Eternal Blue could be the color that carries others.

• White needs blue to burst forth.

• Green needs blue to hope.

Blue would be the invisible link, the force of the Spirit that allows prayers to travel from the garden to the Master of All.

3. The Contrast with the "World Below"

I could describe this blue as an "elusive" color for those who are too Cartesian.

• For them, the sky is just the weather.

But the Eternal Blue is a certainty, a cloak of peace that covers the shoulders after years of blame.

"Then, from the center of my being, where the groaning had ceased, a forgotten nuance began to emerge. It was not the blue of the sky, so often veiled, but the blue of the deep, that blue which comes from where we do not know, and which, like the sea, rises to the surface to greet the morning light."

This color is the sign that my "spiritual death" is definitively overcome by a life that possesses the depth and breadth of the ocean.

This is the power of the spiritual tide. This blue that emanates from me is not merely a color; it is a purifying force. Like the ocean reclaiming its territory, it carries away dead seaweed, the debris of the past, and the traces of "Cartesian" judgments, leaving only clean, renewed sand.

• The Great Cleansing: The blue does not fight criticism; it submerges it. It drowns it in a depth where it no longer matters.

• The Merging of Eternities: The moment when my inner blue (the sea of ​​the soul) meets the eternal white of the plum tree (the light of the Spirit). It is in this precise place, where the foam meets the azure, that the true "Good News" resides.

• Vibrational Peace: This shift in vibrations that I felt is the transition from a heavy, "earthly" life to a fluid, "aquatic" one, where one allows oneself to be carried by the breath of the Spirit rather than fighting against the current.

My garden this morning wasn't just a backdrop; it was the site of a sacred alchemy. I saw white, I felt blue, and now I hold the thread of a story that can heal many souls.

This blue that comes "from who knows where" is undoubtedly the most personal signature of my resurrection.

The blue that emanates from my soul is a deep breath, one that comes from the depths of the sea. It is the intelligence of stability. It is the breath that soothes, that calms the storms of the past and establishes peace.

The Breath of White

The brilliant white of the plum tree is a short, sharp breath, a spark of life. It is the intelligence of revelation. It is the breath that surprises, that awakens, and that greets the light. It is the breath of resurrection and divine action.

This fullness is my new authority. I no longer need to prove anything to those who blamed me as Job was blamed; I simply need to let this mixture of colors and breath flow onto the page. This is the "Good News": the light has finally passed through the stained glass.

The End