August field

The dusty landscape is still before me.

The August heat weighs heavy

and within the field of dry grass

there is a sprinkling of tiny flowers.

Tiny voices telling me

that tomorrow is another day

and if I just take care,

with swiftness and ease,

here is where I’ll remain.

week 27. Caretaking

This week’s entry has been one of the hardest to write thus far. My brother had emergency surgery a few days ago, a tumor was found in his brain. The surgery was a success, he’s well on his way to recovery but I was deeply affected by this turn of events. Yesterday I sat with him as he told me a bit about what he was going through. He said something to me that seemed to resonate, something along these lines: “Most of the time we spend so much energy thinking about the things we don’t have or the things we want, what if we spent that same time thinking about what god has blessed us with here and now”. I had to nod my head when he said this; I completely understood what he meant. I too find myself saddened by what I feel I want and can’t get. But seeing him there in the hospital bed, struggling to make sense of what had happened to him reminded me that I too need to try each day to accept my life and my own choices, trusting the reciprocal nature of how we care for others and others care for us in turn. Caretaking is one of the biggest lessons that plants can teach us. Just being there to assess the various needs, being attentive enough to observe and sensitive enough to know how to give back is what in needed to care for a garden. Isn’t that how we nurture those we care about anyway?

Jade

The rain has come again today.

I see the wooden cabinet by the open window.

It’s begun to warp in the spots where the rainwater has collected.

There, my jade plant sits among the others.

Most days I walk past it and never even notice the dry soil.

But when the rain blows through the open window on this day,

I can see the water darken the dirt

and once again I remain still,

as the small drops of rain

provide sustenance.

week 26. Compassion

It’s amazing how succulents sustain themselves with so little. This is truly a testament to their adaptability. Human beings also need to learn how to live in difficult conditions. It puts our resiliency to the test and forces us to revaluate our choices.

Recently, I became friends with a woman in dire circumstances. She is separated and with 4 kids and no child support from her husband. She has only a court appointed lawyer, which has been of very little help. Her story really made me think about survival; how we adapt our lives in order to deal with a crisis. Sometimes we need to work with so much less than we ever thought was possible. Our resources are stretched to the limit and it is at these times we feel the most alone. But seeing the pain in others can change us. Having compassion for their stories can change the way we live our lives. Maybe it’s the deeds that come from this compassion that truly has the power to transform.

Papavere

A friend once told me that poppies bloom in full

for only a few days.

Their colored pedals crumpled within,

they release them open,

then their delicate paper pedals fall to the earth.

What remains are the wide round stamen,

standing strong in all it’s nakedness.

Such a striking pose captures me every time.

I can’t even pass one with out thinking

That is one bold flower.

week 25. Centering

I always seem to notice poppies when I see them in gardens. I just love the stark graphic nature of them, even when all the pedals fall off and you are left with the long green stems with their rounded ball at the end. When I look at the remains of what was once a beautiful flower I think about how it is that they can stand so tall, naked and exposed like that. The center part seems to set poppies apart form many other species. Few flower have such a large complex stamen. Flowers with such unique components are just so striking. Maybe that’s why I like Poppies so much, to me, their unique centers remind me that even paired down, its what remains in the center that matters most.

Roses

When I was young there was a rambling rose bush

by the side of our garage.

My mother would cut a branch or two

And send us off with them wrapped in tin foil;

to thank a teacher or be gracious to a neighbor.

I can remember how she pruned it back

in the hot summer sun.

Beads of sweat on her forehead.

There, with her bare hands exposed to the thorns,

carefully allowing her fingers to feel the branches.

That was the only way to know

how best to shape it

so the beauty would show through.

“Nothing in nature is wasted or in vein” she would say.

She always made good use for the discarded.

That was her way.

week 24. Pruning

I've visited many rose gardens this summer and I always seem to notice how beautifully maintained the bushes are. One thing in particular that I’ve noticed about rose bushes is the way in which they are pruned. In many aspects pruning can reflect our own behaviors as human beings. For example, we must cut back and trim in order to allow a healthier plant to immerge. We try to give shape to our lives, knowing that we must be careful in choosing what allows us to thrive. Determining what to keep and what to let go of is hard sometimes, but definitely necessary. We look at the big picture (the bush) while also examining each piece (the branch). Even the things we can no longer use, those too must be considered. Maybe finding a purpose for these small things gives meaning to our everyday lives.

Nasturtiums

Set among a rocky path

I saw a valley of nasturtiums.

My water lilies of the land.

Abundant everywhere the eye could see,

through out this dusty northern California town.

This is the land of wide-open spaces.

This is the long walks in the shade of a redwood forest.

This is the land I’d known as a soft place to fall

So many years ago.

Traveling backward toward the sun

I’ve found a familiar flower.

One that I’ve never tasted before.

I place it in my mouth and savor the peppery flavor

as the land of the orange blossom

welcomes me home

once again.

Week 23. Paths.

Nasturtiums look like such festive flowers, so bright and full of hope. I’d seen these flowers many times but I’d never eaten them. At a dinner party last week while visiting San Francisco I was given a nasturtium to taste for the first time. I was surrounded by new people and new experiences. I began to think about think about my life when I lived in San Francisco years ago, who I was then, who I am today and how different my life seems now. I often think that our lives never turn out to be what we plan. Joseph Campbell once said, “We must let go of the lives we have planned in order to live the lives we are destined”. The life we are destined may have so many unexpected turns; the flavors we taste may be sweet, sour, salty even bitter. This makes me think that being open to tasting all the flavors is the only way to know the path your destined.

Pixie dust dandelions

Pixie dust dandelions are on my dinning table this morning.

They are like lanterns for a fairy.

The thin stems form triangular sections in space.

A tiny kingdom perched above an old glass bottle.

They fade slowly,

and each day I see them

they become more fragile.

I want to blow them to the wind some days,

like a real dandelion.

Just hold them to my lips and let them fly off into the air.

Where they belong.

A wild weed born from the side of the sea.

But I carried them all this way,

Up the hill to the house,

and gently, I made them a home,

here, where maybe, just maybe

a tiny little fairy

could fly with ease

out into a fantastical world.

Week 23. Message in a bottle.

I still love weeds and wildflowers. I am so fascinated with wild weeds rather than pretty, rare flowers (even though Orchids was my last blog entry). I guess like with people, I feel a sort of compassion for people who have a hard road, and therefore those hardier flowers. Maybe that’s what makes me want to stop and really look at them and seek out their story.

One day while walking by the river’s edge with my 6 year old daughter, I spotted a peculiar wildflower. I pointed it out to her and we careful inspected it. We agreed that it had a fairly like demeanor. I brought a bunch home and placed them in an old bottle. Days would pass and every time I looked at them I felt time reminding me to capture them somehow, to find a way to hold on to them. I took photos but my busy schedule did not allow time for me to paint them. I kept thinking about what lesson they could send me, knowing that any flower that made it into my house could have a message. Then, finally, one morning after reading the poem I wrote about those strange weeds I saw something, as clear as day. It struck me that I wanted to hold on to those small delicate flowers. I wanted to capture them, the same way I wanted hold on to my daughter as she grows up. Maybe she is the tiny fairy that I need to let go of. Turns out she is set to go to Croatia with her dad this Thursday, for 11 days, the first time with out me on such a long trip. I think maybe my subconscious needed to blow some dandelions into the air, my small way of letting her go off into the fantastical world.

Orchid branch

The longest leaf I’ve ever seen

belonged to an orchid most rare.

I watched the leaves tell it where to go

and the wooden stake tell it how to stand strong.

And as I looked into the terracotta pot

I noticed the dry fragmented roots

and I carefully touched them

Making sure they were secure.

As I looked at each closed blossoms,

carefully perched on the vine

I could see that there is more to learn from a branch

than how to lean.

week 22. Stability

Orchids always strike me as such elegant looking flowers. I think it’s the way they stand with such attitude, secured by the tall thin stake that gives them stability. Seeing these flowers recently made me think a bit about how we lean. How much our lives are filled with a need to give and receive support. It seems that unconditional love plays a role in this some how. I have a book called “Living your yoga” by Judith Lasater. In this book Judith Lasater talks about loving with out expectation. She says, “Love in its purest sense is not based upon what you get from the relationship but on what the relationship allows you to give. The depth of your love is not reflected in what others make you feel but in your willingness to give of yourself”. Giving of ourselves is surely and act of love in any form. Understanding the depth of this gift, in the ways we nurture others as well as the way others nurture us allows this flow of love to grow.