Spiritual Deadheading

My best friend in high school, Nancy, had a green thumb. Her house, and later her college apartments, were resplendent with all manner of hanging and potted plants. I particularly admired her ability to grow coleus---especially the big, bold, eye-catching, serrated varieties. Back in the 1970s, my alcoholism was just gathering momentum, and I was more preoccupied with where my next drink was coming from than with watering and maintaining houseplants. Nancy, on the other hand, had a knack for nurturing green things, and under her care, they flourished. Routinely, Nancy pinched off the purple buds protruding from the centers of the leaves. "What are you doing?" I wanted to know, fascinated and puzzled at the same time. She patiently explained deadheading to me. By definition, to deadhead means to remove a plant's spent flowers. To do so, channels the energy away from seed production into further flower production.

Decades later, deadheading has become a metaphor for an important tool in my spiritual arsenal. I have learned (the hard way) that holding on to anything out of fear blocks wisdom and spiritual growth. To grow I must be willing to relinquish the fear of "what if." If I quit this job, will I find another?  If I end this relationship, will I find another mate? If I move to a new community, will I make new friends? Being fearless today, I don't lament dead flowers. I don't lament the people, places, and/or things that have had their glory and weren't meant to last. Like the coleus and other greenery flourishing in my cottage today, I must be willing to discard the old and await the new. Experience has taught me that with faith and courage, I can channel my energy into spiritual production instead of atrophy. What/who are you clinging to today? What seeds can you channel into flowers?

I've learned a lot about love over the years. I learned that my love of self has to come first, that in order to find love, I have to give love. I learned that my love can't save anyone. No matter how much I love someone, I can't want their wellness more than they do.

I fell in love over and over again last year. I took several long road trips, and each time I checked in to my Airbnb for the night, I fell in love. I fell in love with my hosts, their families; I fell in love with the people behind counters, with fellow travelers, with truckers hauling cargo; I fell in love with the hills, valleys, mountains, oceans, lakes, and ports of this great country.

And I fell even more deeply in love with myself, with my courage, my strength, my laugh, my heart, my mind, my God.

So, it matters little this year that I don't have one person in my life to love. Single-by-choice, I have hundreds of men and women all over the country to love, and they, blessedly, love me back. If you are in a relationship, love deeper. Dig in. Let go of your petty resentments. Something missing? Try providing it instead of waiting for it.

This Valentine's weekend, instead of sitting home, feeling sorry for yourself that a long-term relationship ended or a new one crashed and burned on take off, pick up some carnations, purchase a few greeting cards and go distribute them to residents at a long-term care facility. Be the love you hope to find.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

On a recent road trip, I swapped stories with a dear friend as we wound our way north, out of Rhode Island, to Vermont for a two-day artist's retreat. Invariably, the conversation turned to livelihood, life, and balance, and I was happy to share some details about my creative life (I don't call it work.) My friend is ready to launch the next chapter of her life, and a small group of us are working through Julia Cameron's 12-week Artist's Way program. A key component of the program is a commitment to write Morning Pages. How does one commit to rising early to pen three longhand pages of stream-of consciousness writing? All it takes is practice.

Before I leave home every morning, I sit and meditate for five minutes. Five minutes may not seem like a significant slice of time, but over time, my practice has deepened, and has had a profound effect on my ability to be, peacefully, in the world. 

I write everyday. I scribble three pages on a pad. I don't worry about punctuation, spelling, or grammar. This writing is not for anyone else's eyes, but by laying down tracks everyday, I give writing a place of honor in my life.  Divinely given, who am I to deny it?

I save a few dollars every week. At the top of my home budget/spreadsheet, I have a line item for savings. Allocating funds is non-negotiable. My bills get paid, and my savings account receives a percentage of my weekly earnings.  

Thus, I practice meditating. I practice writing. I practice saving money.

The upshot of showing up for my breath every morning, the benefit of showing up for the muse daily, the financial rewards for setting aside a little, is that by practicing, by becoming a better mediator, I am less judgmental. By practicing writing a weekly blog, I have become a more consistent writer. And by saving money, I am less fearful about my financial future.

Practice doesn't mean perfection, it means being fully present in the world.

https://www.heygo.com/the-footloose-muse