...and the children will come bearing dandelions...

Renewing Ourselves Through Connection

Pretty much every young child at some point picks a handful of dandelions and runs over to give them to Mom. We think it’s cute, and it is. Those in touch with their feeling selves know there’s something special happening when a child does this. It’s almost a rite of spring. Mothers who are connected to their feeling sense accept these bouquets as if they were prize roses or fancy orchids.

And, I’d say, there is wisdom in doing so. Just because dandelions are common doesn’t make them any less of a miracle. Just because children find delight in them doesn’t mean that they are foolish. Just because so many children feel this primordial delight and then want to share it through their primordial connections with their mothers doesn’t make any of this less poignant.

This is it: This is the stuff of life.

If we hang onto the feelings but peel off the label of “cute” and any mental categorizations that sometimes result from hearing words like “Pretty much every young child at some point picks a handful of dandelions,” we may find ourselves suddenly standing on the brink of revelation: These things are amazing! The children! The flowers! It’s ALL amazing!

So, accept the flower. Gaze into it, taking in its spontaneous, exuberant intricacy. Maybe it’s time to pick one yourself. Maybe it’s time to see if your friend “likes butter.” Maybe it’s time to pop the whole flower in your mouth. They’re full of nectar, hence all the bees abuzz about them. If you do eat one, especially on a fine sunny day, you’ll likely discover that the sweetness of the nectar complements the bitter strength of the sap of the plant that supports it.

There’s a name for that particular flavor combination, by the way. It’s called poetry. And you’ll see it happening out there in springtime yards all over the place. We can embrace this wholeness. And perhaps if you haven’t tried eating a dandelion before, maybe make this the year to try one. Why not? Why wait? Take a walk on the wild side.

And there’s so much more. Anyone who spends time with young children knows how refreshing their perspectives can be. They see the newness of the world and they feel its ancient roots because they are the newness in the world springing forth from those ancient roots. To really be with a child is to sit at the feet of the enduringly real. There are important things they haven’t yet had time to forget. Things we do well to remember.

And then we grow up. Things can more and more become “ordinary” to us. There’s a tendency for mental categories like “weeds” to take the place in our perception of the real flowers that emerge from the depths, sway in the breezes, shine out their rays in the sun. That’s what real. But it’s so easy to filter all that out, and then it’s like forgetting we’re wearing sunglasses, and getting used to the dimmer world we inhabit.

The miraculous recedes and sometimes vanishes from our experience altogether.

But of course, it’s always right there, here and now. We just sometimes forget that the flowers…

…the flowers…

…are us, after all…

It’s so easy to live in the projection that says: “Those are just ordinary, boring old dandelions.” — or worse: “Those ugly pernicious weeds need spraying with chemicals because they offend me.” These are just projections. Those ideas are not coming from the flowers. They’re coming from us. And that’s who they reflect upon.

My observation is that we cannot diminish or dismiss such commonplace beauties without at the same time diminishing our own beauty, and our own selves. I mean, imagine ignoring these offerings from the children, callously dismissing them or brushing them aside. It’s not a good look. And in noticing this, for me anyhow, the question then becomes: Can I meet the children where they are? And how can I honor and celebrate them, as newness encountering newness? How deeply can I follow their example?

As we move into that space of honoring earth’s new arrivals, be they children or the flowers they bear, we can renew ourselves.

Beauty is wholeness seeking higher levels of wholeness.

Seeing the whole child becoming more fully integrated and whole is a beautiful thing. And this is true whether we’re talking about the young ones “out there” or the young one inside each of us, right now. Participating in this process will make us more whole: better integrated, inside and out. Fuller, deeper, more beautiful. And more oriented toward growth.

Good news! The flowers are still shining. And so can we.