The Wisdom of Full Bloom

I have been taking note lately, and noticing more that there are no blanket statements that can apply to all of life. Wisdom, instead, is knowing when it is appropriate to apply certain lessons, teachings, understandings to a particular situation. There is no one-size-fits-all approach. Our lives are constantly transforming, and so our understanding and the wisdom we apply to our constantly evolving life situations must adapt.

There are two books I am currently bouncing between: “Healing Wise” by Susan Weed, which was lent to me by my sister and “Nothing Special” by Charlotte Joko Beck. “Healing Wise” is a testament to the Wise Woman tradition of healing—or nourishing, rather. It discusses the difference between this tradition and the Heroic tradition, which includes many other forms of alternative healing, and the Scientific tradition, which we understand as modern medicine. The crux of the book—the way that I understand it—is that, in the Wise Woman tradition, we are always whole, and always possess the power to heal ourselves through nourishment—not through constriction or adding or subtracting anything. By simply accepting what life offers to us, in our health and in our sickness and struggles, we learn to honor the wholeness of our being. We do not need to cleanse or purify or take complex medicines—all of our healing can take place through acceptance and looking to the earth for our nourishment in the form of weeds—things that grow wild and freely, much like our natural sickness and struggles.

It’s an interesting thought, and one that I understand mostly through the lens of Buddhism that I am more familiar with. Not surprisingly, “Nothing Special” draws deep parallels to this message in “Healing Wise”. Interestingly enough, the chapter in Beck’s book that draws the closest parallel to the Wise Woman tradition is entitled, “Preparing the Ground”. This chapter explores the “path” of our practice and the challenges that we find along our path:

“In a sense, our path is no path. The object is not to get somewhere. There is no great mystery, really; what we need to do is straightforward. I don’t mean that it is easy; the “path” of practice is not a smooth road. It is littered with sharp rocks that can make us stumble or that can cut right through our shoes. Life itself is hazardous. Encountering the hazards is usually what brings people to Zen centers. The path of life seems to be mostly difficulties, things that give trouble. Yet the longer we practice, the more we begin to understand that those sharp rocks on the road are in fact like precious jewels; they help us to prepare the proper condition for our lives…There are sharp rocks everywhere. What changes from years of practice is coming to know something you didn’t know before: that there are no sharp rocks—the road is covered with diamonds.”

In essence, both “Healing Wise” and this chapter in “Nothing Special” are talking about the same thing—that our sickness, our struggles are the jewels of life that enable us to grow and to flourish. Often times, however, it is not until we are looking back on our path that we recognize the true value of these struggles. While we are stuck in the struggle, we cannot see outside of the awful situation. It takes practice to step outside of the struggle and see diamonds, instead.

And yet, while I read these books and begin to understand their message, I am struck by one more thing: my garden. Last weekend I cut some flowers and brought them inside. I filled the vase with water and arranged the brown-eyed susan’s, the peonies, and lavender in the glass. The peonie was bright pink and in full bloom. Two buds were formed: bright pink balls sticking out from the vine like the antennae of a butterfly. For a few days I watched the blossom that had been in full bloom the day it was picked, peak, and begin to wither. The petals drooped, some fell onto the counter. Then I began to notice that the buds that had been bright pink began to wither along with the other blossom—but they had yet to bloom! How could I save these buds and give them their due? I let what was the full bloom wither for one more day, and then I did what any gardener would do: I cut off the dying part. I cut it off so that the other two buds would have a chance to blossom. And they did. Today they opened up, beginning their accent into full-blown, full-bloomed glory. Bright pink petals unraveling from the center. 

Had I only known the Wise Woman Way, and blindly followed the advise in “Nothing Special”, I would still have a dying flower, pulling the nutrients from the water, keeping the two buds from bring nourished into their full potential. And where’s the beauty in that?

As we walk on our path, struggle can be a gift, a lesson, a diamond. Some struggles, however, no longer serve us, and these struggles need to be cut off from the stem where we are still growing. True wisdom not only holds many truths, it holds truths that seemingly contradict each other. Living with wisdom involves knowing that there are no blanket statements and there are no rules with how we walk on this path.