nature

fionabeth13

A Thousand Suns

A dandelion in my small, wild garden. Photo by Fiona Beth.

Sitting on the bus a week or so ago, I passed a field full of dandelions. The bright, golden multitude made my heart sing. What a joyous sight this golden yellow is, wild and free.

A few days later I made the same journey. Each golden sun had turned into a silver globe, gossamer light seed heads waiting for the wind to carry them away.

They reminded me of impermanence. Too often I seek to hold onto joy and grieve when it is gone, holding on tightly brings pain and regret.

These tiny teachers spoke of a different manifestation of joy. Each bright flower had transformed into hundreds of seeds, where there had been one there was now the possibility of a whole crowd, and the gathered multitude? Thousands upon thousands of new golden suns waiting to be born.

When I hold onto my joy too tightly I stop life from flowing. If I can breathe gently and welcome new seasons there is room for growth. Without the gift of impermanence there can be no change, no hope.

“Thanks to impermanence, everything is possible.”

PS If you’d like to enjoy a meditation on impermanence I enjoy this one from the Plum Village app.

fionabeth13

The Wheel Turns

White plum blossom on our allotment tree – photo by Fiona Beth

This morning I went to the allotment and the plum blossom was out, bubbling over the bare, grey branches, shocking against a rain streaked sky.

Like the blossom I feel I am emerging from a long winter. Somewhere in 2023 I put myself back in a box I had long been trying to leave behind. It felt comfortable, safe, played to my strengths. And it helped me find my feet, in a new part of the country. Sometimes too much new is overwhelming and that comfy, old shirt that is really past its best is the only thing that will do.

Living with chronic health needs is always an evolution. Eventually, despite loving the people and the knowledge that there was still a lot of work there I could help with, I had to listen to the body’s wisdom. Last week I worked my final day as a primary school teacher. It was a day of gifts. We made a hole in a piece of paper big enough for a teacher to climb through (with many yells of excitement and disbelief), we had a battle to create the longest ever paperchain from a single sheet of A4 (and the kids beat the teacher, more jubilation), and they created supersonic paper planes and helicopters that fell with speed and style.

In between the sunlight and sleet showers, the kind words and goodbye hugs, the knot began to untie. I was crawling under the tables retrieving felt tip pens and stray scraps of paper, when I felt it loosen.

And here I am. Starting a new chapter. The journey so far has been plotted at every step, I have always known what I am going to next, a goodbye was the prelude to new horizons. This time the path is not mapped, as I try a different way to shape life’s pattern. The old one leads to burn out, sickness, limping around with a stick and bed rest on sunny days when I want to be out in the wild.

This one? I know there will be days on the plot, setting seeds and tending crops, and moments of wonder watching the birds and garden wildlife at home. I know there will be walks in the woods to count bees or pick litter. I hope there will be plenty of space for reading, freshly brewed tea and long conversations with kindred spirits.

Beyond that, the path will unfold, in its own time, as I seek to listen to a wilder wisdom.