Hiding. The blooms above are hiding, as most things do when the weather is hard to bear, when the external world is harsh. David Whyte, the well-known author, writes of hiding in his upcoming book of essays entitled, CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. He says:
"Hiding is a way of staying alive. Hiding is a way of holding ourselves until we are ready to come into the light. Hiding is one of the brilliant and virtuoso practices of almost every part of the natural world: the protective quiet of an icy northern landscape, the held bud of a future summer rose, the snow bound internal pulse of the hibernating bear. Hiding is underestimated. We are hidden by life in our mother’s womb until we grow and ready ourselves for our first appearance in the lighted world..."
All through winter, seeds were hiding in the ground, along with their bigger counterpart: bulbs belonging to daffodils, Dutch iris, and paper narcissists. They sent up foliage; but none have bloomed. A very unusual cold front, an ongoing complete lack of rain or fog or clouds, then late bursts of downpours may have driven them back into hiding until next year. It just wasn't a hospitable end of winter for them.
Many people try to clean the house, lay in healthy foods, and plan for positive change in their life while winter is still in full swing. Those December plans are often frayed by March. By now our cultural tendency is to think of spring cleaning. That's not a bad thing, to emerge from hiding and begin by cleaning out the dust bunnies, cobwebs, and things that no longer serve us.
In my time away from this blog, I've been attending to things. Research and learning; exploring possibilities and goal setting; gathering needed information - all pertaining to myriad parts of life. You just can't rush the process. You have to trust. Limbo, the time between acts, if you will, is not a comfortable place. But it's here, in the limbo-hiding-time, that we can acquire what we need for change.
Not long ago I bought a bag of blood oranges. I never get tired of cutting them open and seeing the rich, full color hiding inside.
I love those kinds of hidden surprises and delights. It's one of the best things about spring, too; the bursting forth of tree blossoms, followed by the bursting forth of green or red foliage. It steadies me and reminds me that all is well in the world - even if it's not. Do you know what I mean?
Yesterday I was hiking on the Pacific Coast Trail. I looked ahead, where the sun was ringed by a huge circle. The bottom portion formed a rainbow. I remembered the Bible story of the rainbow being God's promise that there would not be another 40 days and 40 nights of rain. And that circle, with the rainbow around the sun - on the first day of spring - felt like a promise of the end of difficult hardships. I'm going to think of it as a symbol that small and inferior elements are departing, making room for the arrival of great and superior things. That tickles me to no end!
The work and effort continues, as it should toward any goal that we have. But I have a tickling inkling that when harvest time comes, the labor will bring abundance. That's a joyous thing to look forward to, and certainly something share-worthy, so hang with me until October's full reaping!
Wishing you a spring garden in full bloom,
outside your door and in your heart!