Flowering Fridays: Sunflowers

There is always an element of surprise to the sunflowers in our garden. I never know where they will turn up, as the majority of our plants are volunteers that sprout out of the compost we add to the garden. I always plant a bed of sunflowers, but the true fun for me is seeing where else in the garden they decide to take root.

I especially love the giant sunflowers, towering up to eight feet tall and leaning their heads over me, as if they want to come closer and listen. Mary Oliver in her poem, The Sunflowers, writes: 

"they are shy / but want to be friends…" 

"each of them… is lonely, the long work of turning their lives into a celebration / is not easy."

The center of the plant — and its sacred spiraling shape — holds exquisite beauty for me. And puts me in utter awe of the amazing capacity of God and nature.

According to Wikipedia (my new best friend), the spiraling florets are each oriented at approximately the golden angle — about 137 degrees — and "the number of left spirals and the number of right spirals are successive Fibonacci numbers."

I'm not sure I get exactly what all that math means, but I get that there is a highly ordered structure to the plant— and from this order comes the plant's captivating, swirling center.

Where in your life do you sense a higher order at work — the underlying patterns of the universe at play?

I also love the lyrical names of some of the sunflower varietals — Dwarf Sunspot. Ring of Fire. Evening Sun. Autumn Beauty. Lemon Queen. Soraya. Arikara. The cuddly Teddy Bear. And the heartfelt Valentine. Amazing how something can hold such poetry when we name it with reverence.

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready, I noticed one of the sunflower's in our bathroom bouquet seemed to hold a message for me.

Pardon the poor picture quality. But can you see the heart made out of the pollen? The formation was gone today — but the message was not lost.

 Yes, sunflowers, I get your love. And yes, I want to be friends.

So, tell me, what do you see in the sunflower?

Unleashing My Inner Artist

Last night, Tracy and I got together to create inspiration journal samples for the Unleash Your Inner Artist playgroup we are facilitating at the Joyful Living Center on October 8.

It was so fun to get together and play. For one, I so enjoy Tracy and her radiant, joyful and grounded energy.

And it was a reminder of how important it is for me — for everyone — be in a space of play when creating.

When I'm this kind of space for creating, I lose track of time and, in some ways, I lose track of my mind. There is an "unthinking" quality to when I'm fully present — playfully present — in the joy of the creation. Often when I emerge out of this zone, I'm often surprised by what I've created.

That's my favorite way to create. Without focus on the outcome, or whether it's good enough. Just loving the feeling of cutting and pasting and choosing images. Or spilling words onto the page.

In this kind of space, magic happens. We reconnect with our inner child, who has never forgotten to how to play. We allow our inner artist — who is always with us, noticing, capturing and delighting in life — full expression.

We re-discover that creating is inherently joyful, easy, flowing, connected. It is our birthright and what we already are — creators.

Admittedly, I'm not yet always able to access this kind of space. Sometimes my self-doubt or my inner critic can get in the way of the flow.

But increasingly I find that when I approach whatever it is I'm doing with a spirit of play, openness and childlike presence and wonder, what I experience touches me as blissfully joyous — and amazingly easy.

Tell me, when  — or in what areas — do you feel like you are playing in your life?

Steady Steps to Transformation

When some milkweed showed up in the otherwise manicured garden off my back patio this summer, I intentionally let it grow, knowing how much the caterpillars love it. And indeed, I counted 18 Milkweed Tussock Moths on the three plants this weekend, happily and purposefully chewing on leaves.

Last night, I was feeling impatient about what I want to create this fall — and in my life. New classes. New stretchings in my creative work (poetry, collage, art journals). New connections through this blog. 

I want it all. Right now, in fact. 

But then I remembered these moths, and their sure and steady chomping on the milkweed. Each taking the necessary steps — bite by bite — to fully transform into the winged creatures they are destined to be.

One of the wonderful coaches who powerfully impacted my life  — Sunni Boehme — uses Dan MIllman's The Life You Were Born to Live as a tool for her client's self-discovery. According to the book, one of my life path numbers is a 4. Which, as I remember it, means I'm good with the big picture (I see where I want to go and what I want to create). But my growing edge is learning to how be with the process.

In other words, to learn to enjoy every step of the journey, and not just the destination. 

I know this is an important lesson for me — and for all of us — on the path to fulfilling our life purpose and our creative dreams. 

Take it one step at a time. And trust that with intention and inspired action you are creating the space to transform and take flight.

Thanks to the example of my caterpillar friends, I'm going to keep taking steps every day toward what I'm called to do — and be patient as my new wings emerge.

So, tell me, what are the small steps you will take this week to go towards fulfilling your dreams?

Feel free to leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you. And as you can see from the group of moths below, there is power in community.