Florida Lobelia

 

Lobelia grows wild along the roadside in the Florida panhandle. It's a short, light blue flower here.

I love recognizing the close cousins of familiar flower friends when i travel to new habitats. So often, in a new place, it takes a while before i recognize the features of a place. Stopping the car on the side of the road to look closely at the bluish haze of wildflowers reveals my old friend Lobelia.

Not being a people person, i often look at new people as strangers. My sweetie, on the other hand, has never met a stranger. He chats up everyone and has them smiling within a couple of minutes. His mission in life is to bring joy to everyone he meets. He inspires me to do likewise.

This kind of inspiring friendship supports us in practicing kindness in ways that may not come naturally to us. I can look at strangers along the road and say "Hello Friend."

Flower Chaplain

 The pots of tulips i planted in December were shooting green, so i brought some of them indoors to bud. 

My sweetie and i are making a jail break next week-- flying to Florida. So i delivered 3 pots of budding tulips last evening--one to a grieving widow, one to a cancer survivor, one to an always-helpful friend. Call me the Flower Chaplain.

A handful of my friends are chaplains, and i've wondered whether i could be one. But i don't have quite the right personality type. No matter. 

I can offer the hope of spring to those who are ill, the message of change to those who are grieving.

Flower Clouds

 Flower Clouds is a 1905 painting by Odilon Redon. Two women are on a spiritual journey.

If you could take one person with you on your spiritual journey, who would that be? 

If you could accompany one person on their spiritual journey, who would that be?

Turkeys Trudging through the Snow

Back in December, we had 30 turkeys walking through our yard every day. But where did they go after the first heavy snowfall?

One neighbor saw 7 of them. Another neighbor saw a lot of fox tracks. Oh-oh, the neighbors thought.

I've seen a fox catch a chicken in mid-air. Stunning. But a full-grown turkey seems a bit large for a fox to wrestle with.

This morning we saw 20 turkeys walking single file through the snow on the paths near our house. That means 10 are missing in action. Sigh.

Many years ago, a 74-year-old woman told me, "I feel like i'm on a battlefield. All around me, people are dropping. I don't know why i'm still standing."

I've reached the time of life where a friend dies every month or so.

The turkeys form a procession as they trudge through the snow.

Welcome Friend

 
I stuffed a glass gazing globe with a string of white fairy lights and set it in a ceramic flowerpot beside the front door. The warm light is welcoming. I find i prefer the glow to the brightness of a porch light. Besides, who is coming to visit in the evenings? No one.

No one drops by for a visit after dark. My sweetie and i are seldom out after dark ourselves. We are tucked in to our warm home by sunset.

Still, the welcome mat is out. 

Can we put out the welcome mat in our hearts? Welcome each new person like a friend. Welcome each new event, whether or not it's what we want. Welcome Life as it flows through us. Welcome this moment, this hour, this day. Just as it is.

African Violets

My grandmother always had African violets sitting on her kitchen windowsills. I, however, could never keep African violets from dying. Until now.

18 months ago, my sweetie's ophthamologist gave him two African violets--one for each cataract surgery. I'm happy to report they are still alive! 

This past summer, a gardener who came to pick up some of my give-away perennials gifted me with an African violet she had started from a leaf. I love the ruffled pink flowers edged with white.

The gift economy is a lovely form of generosity in which each one of us gives a little something to a friend, a neighbor, or a client.

Maybe my African violets are surviving and thriving on the joy of giving.

Glowing Gazing Globe

In lieu of a jack-o-lantern, i've installed a glowing gazing globe on the front step. I stuffed one string of white fairy lights into the ball, and plugged the extension cord into a timer so that the lights go on at sunset and stay on until bedtime.

I live at the end of a dirt road, and our neighborhood trick-or-treaters long ago aged out of wearing costumes. No one rings my doorbell on Halloween.

I much prefer this glowing globe to turning on the front porch light. It's a bit dim, but still, it's enough light to welcome us home or welcome visitors to the front door.

Welcoming is one form of kindness. We extend a welcome to friends and strangers who aren't that strange, after all. The Buddha greeted everyone as "Friend." I wonder if i could do the same.

Spiritual Friend

I'm in Olympia, Washington for a couple of days, visiting a spiritual friend. We are on different paths--she's a Quaker; i'm a Buddhist--but i love our deep conversations. Plus, i'm in the Pacific Northwest, which grows beautiful roses.

Spiritual friends. Life doesn't get any better than this, no matter how free-wheeling our conversations.

Who is your spiritual friend?

The Friendliest of Birds

I consider chickadees to be the friendliest of birds, and here's why: they are almost fearless. They arrive at the bird feeder while i am putting the sunflower seeds in it. Yesterday, one chickadee made a touch-and-go landing on my outstretched hand full of sunflower seeds. You really have to mindful to feel the glorious happiness of a small puff of feathers clutching your finger for less than a moment.

Compared to other birds, the chickadee is foremost in friendliness. The tufted titmice are skittish. The goldfinches, still in their winter olive drab, travel in flocks and scatter at the mere breath of wind. The cardinals zoom off if you so much as move your eyes.

Metta is often translated as loving-kindness, but it stems from the word maitri, the Sanskrit word for "friend." It is just as accurate to translate metta as friendliness or loving-friendliness. One aspect of friendliness is freedom from fear. In other words, fearlessness.

As tiny little fears poke their way into my mind--anxiety, worry, uncertainty, unease, dread, jitters, or what have you--can i respond like a chickadee? Can i fly right into the heart of the unknown?

Noxious Knotweed to the Rescue

During my post-cancer treatment, i go not only to the oncologist, but also to a naturopath. The naturopath suggests several supplements. The one she prescribed for me yesterday is Resveratrol, which i found in the health section of the food co-op. Here's the kicker: Resveratrol is made from Japanese knotweed!

Japanese knotweed is a loathsome invasive, growing along roadsides and streams, and crowding out native plants. My sweetie Bill, who is on our town's Conservation Commission, goes every summer month to cut down 4 patches of knotweed along nearby U.S. Route 5. It takes years of dedication to knock out a single stand of knotweed. One gardener told me a shoot of knotweed in her backyard came from a neighbor's patch, 65 feet away.

Noxious knotweed turns out to be a stellar anti-oxidant. Our "enemy" becomes my friend.

The Buddha called everyone he met "friend." Could we call everyone we meet today "Friend"? Could we call every irritating, unpleasant thing "friend"? Quakers call themselves the Society of Friends, and work toward peace in many different ways.

Yes, some friends are sneaky and underhanded. We still keep our guard up--for our own safety and for the safety of others. But we don't need to hate. We keep talking, communicating, and connecting in a friendly manner, like the Dalai Lama's attitude toward the Chinese who have tortured so many of his fellow Tibetans.

Hate only harms ourselves. Even if we are only hating Japanese knotweed. Right now, i am grateful to this particular enemy.