Deadheading

Nature often mirrors the processes of our inner life.  It seems like deadheading is one of them. 

Music by Scott Holmes - A Wee Tipple 
Non Copyright Music 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:08

My tiny porch is filled with plants and color, overflowing green shamrocks, of course, the bright blue-violet morning glories that came out of nowhere, twisting their way around the railing, and deep pinks and oranges and yellows and purples, and even a timid striped chipmunk who keeps a sharp eye on me from among the potted plants surrounding my porch. I cannot say how much peace, how much relief this space brings me. Each morning I am tucked away in the corner, sipping my coffee while I tune inwards, noticing whatever is stirring within. My porch in the mornings, and the stump at night. This morning, as I sat there, taking in the bright oranges and yellows and deep pinks of the million bells spilling over its basket, I noticed how particularly bright their colors seemed to have grown after I had spent some time deadheading the plant a few days ago. And suddenly I realized a potential connection to life. Deadheading, huh? Sounds like a monster move, some gruesome scene out of a film. While pruning has to do with shaping a plant, deadheading is the removing of flowers that have faded. It's taking out those shriveled blooms that no longer bring beauty to the plant. The interesting thing is that the removal of what no longer blooms, of what no longer brings beauty, redirects the energy of the plant towards new growth and improves the overall appearance of the plant. And I began to wonder, what if the circumstances in my life is its own process of deadheading? What energy is wanting to be redirected into other areas of my life? What if the ending of things are only to speed up the arrival of more beauty from places and people I have not encountered yet? Experiences not experienced yet. And when I attempt to clutch at things I do not feel ready to let go of. A sequel perhaps. But this is not something I had any room to absorb during the darkest days after loss. When going through grief that deep, that cuts that sharp, bringing this up would have been an act of cruelty, whether it was intentional or not. A person who has gone through grief knows when to keep their mouth shut while keeping their heart open. If someone had given me a reminder of the story not being over, of the potential for new beginnings during that time, deadheading would have meant exactly what it sounds like: a physical act of aggression from this human to another. But as I sit, tucked away in my small corner of the world, among color and sunshine, and the sound of the wind in the trees, maybe deadheading doesn't just happen with plants. Maybe it also happens in people, in me, in my life, and reorients the life within us towards a new direction.