Blossoming

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”  – Anais Nin

I first saw this quote about six years ago.  It was given to me, imprinted on a metal plate attached to a thick leather band and made to be worn around the wrist.  I remember unwrapping the box it was mailed in and running my fingers along the smooth grain.  I didn’t know what this meant to have more pain in remaining unopened than facing the risks of blossoming.

I had lived a fairly sheltered and untouched life at the point of receiving this gift.  By untouched, I mean gliding along easily without heartbreak.  I was in the fortunate position of staying at home with my preschool aged children, and spent the rare moments of downtime in that schedule writing poetry that I shared mostly with my husband at the time and occasionally a friend.  Besides this there was an interest in learning simple arrangements for piano as well as baking which I continue to appreciate for the ‘grounding’ it provides.  By grounding, I mean an activity that brings you fully into your senses and the here and now.  Music and poetry have always felt to be a different kind of meditation than baking.  All are channels but the latter a rooting in practicality that produces a tangible and interactive quality.

All of this I did as a task for the sake of the task, and it was not meant to be shared with others (except for the baking).  I felt it was safest to create in an environment without the opinions of others so not to be spoiled by critiquing or any analysis.  This idea came from the relatively short time period I spent with vocal performance, in which some experiences became spoiled by the mind.

So while not quite understanding what my friend meant in giving me this bracelet, I also felt aligned with wearing it.

Since that time period, there have been changes to life, namely the removal of the sense of security I felt in being part of a couple.  With witnessing the dissolve of a relationship that had been part of my life since my late teens,  I felt a lot of loss.  There have been long stretches of quiet at a time in life when activity and stimulation are the norm in our homes, and emptiness has also been a regular guest.  The reality I knew altered significantly in this withering.

Initially, I didn’t realize I was going to seed.  A way of being and doing and thinking died with this change – not all at once and not everything.

What I’m finding now is that some patterns were developed in keeping shelter during the ‘cold season’, that have to be shed in order to blossom.  I think I know exactly what Anais Nin meant by the pain of staying tight in a bud without allowing yourself to come fully into bloom.  In order to bloom, you have to have courage to push through the soil or the crack in the sidewalk or wherever you are planted, you have to allow nourishment and light to filter through, you have to trust knowing that may not be a safe thing to do, and you have to allow your unfolding without judgement; allow no opinion of yourself or your circumstances so that you may truly blossom into the existence that is rightfully yours.