Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Wildflowers


I was walking up the hill, stretching my legs after a long day behind the desk, and noticed how the forest floor was speckled with yellow-gold daisy looking wildflowers. Their name escaped me and later I identified them as Arnica. There were little pearl-like flowers along the edge of the dirt road, in the gravel called 'Pussy Toes'. A couple of weeks ago it was Trillium in the shade of the fir trees and now they had been replaced with a new assortment of blossoms. In August the purple asters will appear and I will savor their fragrance.

All of these flowers are so quick to come and go. To enjoy them during their brief stay you must take time when they are ready and observe them in their habitat. All of these flowers fade immediately upon cutting. They must be relished on their terms, under their conditions.

Doesn't that make you want to see them even more? Aren't they even more beautiful since you know they will soon be gone for another year? Wildflowers are all about being in the Now. They call to us, "See me now! Tomorrow I will be gone. Don't miss this moment!"


Monday, May 27, 2013

Unfolding


A friend gave me a package of seeds. They were labeled "mixed hollyhocks". She said they were selected from a patch of brilliant colored flowers. I waited almost a year to put them in the ground. 

First I had to wait for the snow to melt and the soil temperature to rise. Then I removed all the weeds that had encroached and prepared the bed. The seeds were lovingly placed and tamped into the earth. Now the waiting. 

Hollyhocks are a type of plant, a biennial, that will not produce flowers the first year. The foliage will flourish and the plant will set strong roots but the flowers do not appear until the second year. No matter how I desire to see what color flower these seeds hold, I have to wait and allow the plant to mature on its own schedule. No amount of my wanting, worrying or pleading will change the course of nature.

I do not know if my seeds will even germinate. Maybe they lost their vitality in storage. It is possible that the young plants may not make it through their first winter. Equally, the potential is there for a full spectrum of colored hollyhocks to grace the wall of the cabin for years and years. The bees and the hummingbirds will drink their nectar, they will pivot their petals to greet the sun each morning and will provide a cheery welcome into my home. I cannot see the future.

Why is it more challenging for me to acknowledge this natural unfolding in relationships?  How often do I feel the pull  to break open the seed to see what mystery it holds? By doing that,  I would destroy the opportunity for growth. The seed cannot set its roots and push its tender  leaves through the soil if it is pulled at, has too many nutrients applied or dug up to have its progress inspected every day. 

Planting a seed is an act of faith. Faith that a power greater than ourselves is taking care of the seed and has a divine plan. If the seed is meant to thrive, it will. We can, of course, help it by providing water and keeping the weeds from invading, but we cannot change the plan. I am doing my best to see that allowing relationship to unfold at its own pace is acknowledging my faith. If I strive to see what lies ahead, I am destroying the newly planted seed. My need to know how the story ends is like needing to know the hollyhock's color. Do I really feel that I can control the outcome? Why would I want to? How would that contribute to my evolution and growth. I, like my seed, am strengthened by the challenges of my environment. Can I trust the process and learn from my years of gardening? 

Whether the hollyhocks grow or not, it does not change who or what I am. I will continue to enjoy all the other flowers in my garden if this package does not produce. When it is time, if necessary, I will plant again. I  find pleasure in the waiting, watching and unfolding everyday. Only the Divine knows the plan. I relax into that knowing that I am the gardener that tends, but I am not in control, nor do I wish to be.


Thursday, May 16, 2013

Focus

Aries barked as she locked her gaze at something up on the hill behind the cabin. I strained to see what she was watching but it was no use. Bears, mountain lions and coyotes were not uncommon. I grabbed my binoculars and raised them to see more easily. As I adjusted them, I saw it was Frank, our white cat, up under the pines. When he heard me and began running towards the house I refocused to follow his descent. Suddenly birdhouses and then my bluebird came clearly into view. He had been there all along but I did not see him because my attention had been completely on Frank.

 It made me think of how often we are only seeing a situation from one point of view. There is much more than what we are acknowledging going on. Can we refocus? Can we open our field of vision to include additional possibilities? I almost missed my favorite bird by looking right past him. This was a wonderful reminder for me to not believe that what I see is all that is.

Sometimes it is easy to focus on what is wrong with a situation and look right past all the great things happening. One problem can steal our attention and make it difficult to view the whole. Our perspective can be totally slanted. 

There are times to use my binoculars and times to open my field of vision.  I am continually reminded of life's lessons and strive to grow into a better version of myself.

Beginnings and Endings

I realized this morning that I am on the last page of my leather bound journal. There is always a bittersweet feeling at this time. Each book holds roughly two years of events, experiences and emotions. Some of these books I have titled because a single circumstance has so dominated the writings. The stack gets higher and higher as the years march by. I laugh to myself when I think of my daughters reading these notes and knowing more about me than I ever intended. As I feel the handmade paper and lovingly handle the buffalo hide cover, I think of how many nights I have allowed my mind to wander over situations and attempted to make sense of it all. Somehow if I could just write it and see it, I might understand what alluded me.  I had an advisor once tell me that I was trying to make logic out of the illogical and maybe that is so. Is writing cathartic? Is it releasing pent up energy? Is it settling spinning emotions and getting a handle on them? Whatever it is to me is a mystery and yet it is a process that I have followed since childhood.


Tragedy struck when a spurned lover destroyed a set of my journals when I was in my late teens. He was able to land a blow that hurt worse than any slap or insult. The dreams and contemplations of my youth went up in smoke. But I remember. I remember the poetry I wrote at the time. I remember sitting with my journal among the stones in an old cemetery. It was serene, a stream rambled past and I felt the beings there were glad to have my company. The chaotic feelings of an adolescent were cooled by the ancient pines. The poetry was inspired by the beautifully hand carved epitaphs on the granite markers; many of these predated the Civil War. Numerous were the graves of children, often several with the same date. These stones were engraved with sheep, dogs, willow trees and baskets of flowers. This was the only place I wrote poem after poem. I haven’t done that since. They are gone, destroyed by someone’s anger and intent to cause pain. If the poems were meant to be here they would have survived. It is the writing that mattered. It was the process that soothed my soul. That could not be halted.

If tomorrow all of my journals were turned to ash, it would not be important. There are always more words, more thoughts, more dreams. I have considered going back and reading past entries to find the wisdom, but I am not sure I will find it. Yes, I would now see the situation from a vantage point I could not have then. I have changed. I am not the person I was. I hope that each year I become more.

I end this journal with gratitude and tenderness. Now to choose anew. There is excitement at the beginning of a new story, a tribute to the life I am leading. New adventures to explore, new love to share, new people to meet, new dreams to set in motion. My life is forever unfolding and building. I set the intention that all I desire is coming to me. True love, abundance and joy. I am fulfilled and find peace in my everyday activities. My work is rewarding and beneficial to the whole. This fresh, untouched journal will reflect one more chapter in the continuing saga of Patty McGlynn from Cow Turd Alley. I am excited to see where she will go this time and what she will learn along the way. The little girl that just keeps writing.