Thursday, July 1, 2010

White Sails of Peace

Small actions, one at a time, that's all we need, as we walk our own individualized, yet connected paths towards inner peace.

More than a few years ago now, strange to even write that, my father gave me a "White Sails" aka "Peace Lily" or more formally as "spathiphyllum clevelandii." During the period in my life I was living in Detroit, and set upon two quests. 1) To offset the often bleak, lacking greenery landscape of this battered city with a lush green oasis inside my apartment, helping improve the air quality for my sensitive lungs all in one fell swoop. 2) To try to overcome, in my own humble way, my family's inability to keep any house plants alive. I look back on this period with great joy, everywhere I turned there were gorgeous aloe plants, spider plants, cacti, kitchen herbs and white sails, among others, and I was humming and happily propagating like mad. It was incredibly meditative and grounding to have my hands in that soil, to gently coo to the plants, to rejoice as they grew, and mourn those who did not make it. I dried my own sage to smudge the house, clipped fresh basil for pizza, and apologized and thanked grandma aloe for healing my burns. This was during a time that I cultivated hobbies. I took up knitting as well, and both my plants and my weaving brought me great peace.

And then the transitions, the upheavals that we go through continually in this earthwalk. My tenure in detroit was coming to a close, and I was moving into an indeterminate amount of time as a wandering gypsy artist. Each time I left my house, I forced myself to take something with me, to recycle, to give away... There were days it was a great joy, to look around at all that I had amassed and see which thing needed to go, why and to whom. Other days a great struggle, but I knew the outflow had to continue. I gave my plants away, eventually, to my dear friend, and many of them are still alive and well. And practicing detachment of one's belongings, although not always easy, is almost always rewarding. It reminds us that things are transient, friends, belongings, jobs, and to have faith that what we need in the future will be provided, or we will be led how to bring it into existence.

Ok, so quite the long tangent, back to the white sails. I was in love with the plant my father had given me, I remember the sheer joy when i saw the first arumlike flowers spring forth like great white cobra heads. I literally squealed. When my father passed, the plant became a strange connection beyond the veil, and it was ever so hard to part with it.

At the time of his memorial service, I remember that a family friend had gifted my sister and mother with a massive peace lily plant, not even knowing of the plant I had possessed. It started off in all its finery, lush, happy and vibrant, a poignant symbol of life, as we all dealt with the loss of my father. Over the next two years as I would go home, the plant looked less and less vibrant, I won't speculate why. As I mentioned, things have always thrived outside under the sun at my childhood home, but not inside those walls, and this plant would be no exception. I can't remember if my mother or sister insisted i took it or i offered, but somehow what was left of this peace lily traveled with me up to Buffalo. My lone plant coming to the new place I had set down roots.

And for the past two years, it has hung on for dear life, and I have not paid it the attention it needed, other than watering and finally getting some miracle grow sticks. A few months back, a friend with a green thumb, who i queried about the plant's health said, "how old is it? and you haven't replaced the soil? there are no nutrients in there!" And i cringed, guilty as charged, and thought how true that is of so many of us, still trying to get nourishment from dead soil of the self, fearful of what repotting might mean.

I cannot even count how many times I would look into the kitchen, where this plant sat, a life force exactly as old as my father has been gone, and think "i need to repot you" or "maybe i should get a friend white sail and we'll repot you together." but these thoughts remained just that, thoughts, musings.

June 16 was four years, four years?!? And today, July 1, I finally repotted the plant. I had a mystical morning and after receiving a much needed massage, found my way face to face with Urban Roots, a store I have wanted to go in since I moved here, and finally did so today. And right in the front, was a baby white sails, eager to grow and push forth those magnificent flowers. So i bought her and some organic soil and went home and gently emptied the old pot and sang to the starved roots and leaves, introduced them to their new friend and sat there so at peace with my fingers in rich earth. Who knows how they will fare, if they'll even get along and coexist, but that's part of the fun, to see what will happen, and to give them each a fighting chance.

And now I return to my day, and all the things to do that are always waiting for me, but with a different sense of peace then I have had in some time. A small action that meant so much.

Love you Dad.