There is a meadow.
In the meadow there is a flower that has defensive thorns protruding from it and a spicy pungent odor emanates from the thorns crinkling the nose and stinging the eyes.
Eye’s and noses are attracted to this flower, sinking over the bulb’s opening, seeking an answer to the madness.
The more one looks, the more their eyes burn and their nose begins to run. Tears will eventually stream from the eyes as the jaw clenches in pain.
The tears that fall from the eyes, run down the nose bridge into the mouth of the flower and around the base at its roots. The longer one stays, the wetter the flower becomes.
Until one is eventually grasped by the flowers leaves that grow tendril like vines around below. From the outside, the flower has grown taller than the one performing the sensing act. The small nuisance has become a collection of pains each with their own thorns and poison.
The roots have grown in and around the footing of the observer, making it more difficult for them to regain their momentum and continue onward.
From the outside now, the flower stronger than the person. Directly beside this scene, a gentle soul bends down to smell the roses.
Water the right flower. We are all in the same meadow, but we only see what we want to see, whether that is painful for us or not.