The Wisdom in the Dandelion We Hold in Our Hand

The energies are rising toward mid-day.

I have just finished meditating. It's been a busy and topsy-turvy morning. My mastermind circle met via Zoom meeting on an unexpected day because of a change in the facilitator's schedule. I went to prepare some materials for a meeting later today and the site I use to prepare a form I need for this is doing server maintenance and the site is unavailable. I woke early today and had tea and wrote my morning pages. They wrote slowly and I felt pressure to tie things up before I was ready in order to be on time for my 8 am meeting. I have another meeting at 1 pm, and it is likely that I will be unprepared if the website I need for the form does not move into a space of availability.

The energy of the day feels dissolving and disseminating, like the seeds of a dandelion blowing away on the wind.

As I reflect on this surprising image, I feel the energy of choice emerging.

The first image I get is of a child, holding an empty stem in her hand, the joy of the experience dissipates as she notices that all that is left of it is an empty stem. Her perspective is close and focused on what she is holding, rather than on what she has unleashed. 

What might happen if she were to look beyond the empty thing she holds in her hand to what is being carried away because of the simple act of her breath having released it?

How we see things. 

What we choose to focus on. 

How we interpret our experience.

All of this shapes every moment.

In the midst of a harried morning, I pause for a time of stillness and my perspective changes. 

So what does the child do once the moment with the dandelion ends? When the seeds have flown and she can no longer see them riding the winds? When they have passed out of sight and all that is left of the experience, truly, is the empty stem in her hand?

For there is a time when that is the truth of the experience.

Does she hold on to the empty stem? For a time? Forever? 

Does she let it go, cast it away to become compost that will nurture ground for dandelions? And in doing so, does she look around and notice what next captures her attention?

Yes.    

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.