to be with the flowers
a tulip meditation
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Lineage
The dead of winter sprouts
an instinctual root.When hope’s flame
threatens one last flicker
the violet blooms.
Under the sun’s
reassuring light
I am reborn.
Sometimes I feel as if I am stuck at the edge of winter. And while I can feel the sun offering longer days of company, I feel trapped under the shadow of darkness. These days, more than ever, I so desperately want to find myself in the awakening flora rather than reflected in the glow of a phone. In an age of constant communication and connection—how have we gotten so far away from each other? When did we go from planting community gardens to building islands of stained glass that bend the light of illusion and reality?
I woke this morning in a cold sweat with the urgent desire to get out of my head. To turn off my phone and leave the imaginary meeting ground for something a little more physical. To begin my day instead among the songs of the black capped chickadee and in the company of the forest floor. Finding medicine in the subtle movements of a community that reveal themselves only to those who take the time to notice. Like the lone tulip emerging from under the oak tree. Bud first. Not in any rush. Choosing to carefully unfurl each petal rather than all at once. Not questioning time but savoring it. Blooming regardless of an audience. For no reason other than to answer the inner call to blossom.
“Do you feel like you were meant to be anything?” My friend asked over coffee one tender morning. At the moment, I didn’t really know how to respond. I feared that the answer was no. It wasn’t until I found myself on the forest floor, during this tulip meditation, that I found the answer reflected in the green of her stem. To be with the flowers.
To gather flowers. To give flowers. To be inspired by, devoted to, and spend time among flowers.
Like the flood rush of an incoming spring, the seeds of memories flowed in, revealing all of the time I spent as a child being enchanted by the bleeding hearts in my grandmother’s garden. Walking on the rocks that made a protective island of flowers on our front lawn. Daydreaming of dandelion wishes and buttercup predictions. Building a bouquet of imaginary meadows to escape into during an isolating childhood. This friendship with flora continued to follow me through the passage of adulthood. Always offering a supportive stem. Always singing out songs of poetry. Always reminding me of how much enchantment and joy can be found in a simple, passing moment.
Simple. Passing. Moments.
Like last April, 13 days into spring’s arrival at exactly 12:48am. In this one moment, I was met with a lifetime of important lessons. I was greeted by the sweetest flower I have ever known. The real life human kind. The one I grew inside of my own body. Teaching me what it truly means to embody the seasons of nature. Reminding me that my body is a garden bed. And my daughter is her very own meadow of flowers.
With a laugh as joyful as a summer zinnia, she reteaches me how to speak the language of flowers. With a heart as curious and eager as a springing violet, she reminds me to enjoy these simple, passing moments. With eyes as blue as iris, she stares into my face and says, “Your existence is the only offering this world needs.”
an offering for flowering bodies
In the village of Devon, England, it has been said that if you plant tulips in your garden, you will be offered protection by the local fairies. What, you must be wondering, is so special about the tulip? Other than their beauty and their offering of respite after a long winter, they lend support in building the fairy’s maternal village. The tulip offers their blossoms as a bassinet to the fairy babies. Cradling the young as the fairy mothers lull their children to sleep with the sweet song of spring. Knowing that their babies are safe and sleeping sound in the petals of the tulips, they go on to gather with other fairy mothers, dancing with one another under the moonlit night. Creating a village of like-minded fairy mamas who find friends in the flowers and poetry in the movements under the stars.
Inspired by the fairies in this flower lore, my dear friend, Kat Farrell-Davis ( the incredible poet of
) and I have set out to create our very own creative village of mothers, poets and flower lovers. We've named this mother's meadow Flowering Bodies.During our first gathering, we offer you the gift of tulips. For the hour we will make a bed upon their petals as we join together to create poems to the music of the changing season—both outside our window and inside of ourselves. We hope you will join us on March 21st, at 11am EST. This virtual event is free with suggested donation. Replays will be available for those who want to attend but cannot join us live!
the mission behind flowering bodies
We believe that mothers flourish when rooted in community, supported in their artistic expression, and in right relationship with nature. Through Flowering Bodies, we forge relationships with humans and nonhumans alike. We engage with beauty as a necessity. We honor where we are. We carve out space to create, uncensored & unjudged. We find ourselves within the poem, the flower, and one another.
"medicine in the subtle movements of a community that reveal themselves only to those who take the time to notice"... "Choosing to carefully unfurl each petal rather than all at once. Not questioning time but savoring it. Blooming regardless of an audience. For no reason other than to answer the inner call to blossom." ... I will be printing this and putting it on my inspiration wall. Your ability to notice, then act, and to do so slowly, reverently, with such care, really is a marvel.
Love this!