Let's Be Dandelions

 The dandelions with their full-blown seed heads that crowded the roadside reminded me of the protesters/protectors who lined the street at a protest that we had just attended.

We are the dandelions sprouting in every crack, spreading our seeds far and wide. Dandelion seeds are not fragile. They will sprout wherever they land. If need be, they lie dormant in the soil for years and years until it is time to grow. And grow they will. Even if the seed falls in a not-quite hospitable place it will eventually grow into a deep-rooted dandelion that will be difficult to kill.

Be a dandelion. Dig deep roots and trust that your seeds (words, ideas) will eventually grow even in an infertile place. Be medicine for the World. Nourish others. Be beautiful. Be bold. Spread many seeds.

Dandelions.

Because she starts out speaking about dandelions and moves into writing about how to be resilient in chaotic times, I want to share a recent post at the Druid's Garden blog.

Singing

 

We sing to the rising Sun

  in gratitude.

Although it shines as brightly

 when we don't.

It does not demand our praise and

gratitude. It shines on all

equally, regardless.

   We give praise and gratitude

so we remember, 

so we sing,

so we praise, 

that we may not forget.

Singing to the Sun lifts us,

fills us with light.

As we sing,

we rise.

As we rise,

we sing

and are one Light with the Sun.

We start the Day Singing,

singing, singing....

(An impressionistic/abstract photo of me in my green robe greeting the rising Sun)

comfort comes in small packages

 

A few years ago I acquired this nice little tweed jacket. The lining was ripped and the former owner had left a few cigarette burn holes. I decided it would make a nice garden jacket. No reason I shouldn't look classy in the garden.

When I first wore it this spring, I stuck my hand in one pocket and found this little acorn that I had put in there sometime last year. It has been oddly comforting to put my hand in the pocket and feel the smooth roundness of the little acorn. So it stays.

Later, when the weather demanded heavier gear so I wore my work coat, I found more little acorns in the garden as I weeded. They likely came in with the chipped wood mulch on our paths. A few of those went into my coat pockets. 

We're working hard to get our home and 30 acres ready to sell in another month or so. I imagine myself finding these acorns in my pockets as I work in some future garden. Maybe they'll bring me some comfort as I feel the smooth, hard shells... or a sense of nostalgia. 

Taking something from our home of 18 years, like these little acorns, into our next phase of residency brings a sense of continuity, which I find comforting. Some of the plants also will follow us, even though I might be able to buy the same species later, continuity comforts me. A few of these plants were first planted at my previous home, and some -- like the fragrant purple iris -- came from my childhood home.

My residence will change, but the sense of safety, security and Home will follow in these small ways, as long as my heart is full and open. I've gone through waves of grief about leaving, waves of anxiety about the future, and waves of peace. Right now I'm feeling eager to finish to work here and move on.

But things won't move as quickly as I'd like.

That's ok. It gives me more time to Be Here.