The variegated hosta is in full swirl now, the sight of it transporting me back to my early childhood days when I’d stretch out my arms, toss back my head and spin until I fell down, the green of the trees swirling still, until it all finally came to rest.
For timeless hours, I would lay in the cool grass, breathing its perfume, watching the leaves of the cottonwoods, poplars, maples and oaks sway in the breeze from the bay, while above them white gulls soared, their calls cascading down through the canopy of May’s luscious greens.
Now, at my feet, hosta plants unfold fat leaves beneath the lilac blossoms as damsel flies play. Everywhere, green abounds in countless forms, each one a masterpiece and perfectly placed. Above me noisy crows fly in the deep blue sky. All of this, so swiftly come, the fulfillment of a promise. And now, so swiftly passing.
May’s sweet finale begins now with a sweep of trumpets and bells, its pastel tones rising high into the perfumed air. Larks come, and robins, to carry the song to the trees, to the sky.
May herself waltzes the fields, strewn with her violets and phlox, buttercups and clover. Rainbows flow from her feet as she goes and the grasses bow to her song.
Across the forests and meadows her song sings, over the green rolling valleys and hills. And it sounds like love and wraps itself softly over all the wee creatures she brought to the world.
“May you flourish, dear children,” she sings. “I leave you the gift of my joy. May you thrive, sweet babies, I love you.” And she whispers her tender goodbyes.
I was reminded again, after watching the events the past week brought us, of one of the most valuable teachings I ever learned. I’ve shared it with you before, but this seems like a good time to remind you about it, too. It’s this counsel from Tara Brach about what to do when you find that you’re in distress. Say this to yourself, she says:
This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.
I’m always comforted by it. It lets me put a name to what I’m feeling: suffering. Then it reminds me that I’m not alone, that suffering is something every human being everywhere experiences. That’s kind of a deep thing to realize. None of us escapes pain—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Life here isn’t for sissies. It puts all of us to the test.
Knowing that, the only worthwhile response is to be kind. Accept that at one time or another, life is painful. Reality here has a brutal streak. And in the face of it, kindness is a healing balm. It washes over the scene with a gentle warmth. It ever so subtly brings a soft light to things, allowing us to feel a spaciousness wide enough to see beyond our pain, to sense the love around us, too. Let yourself remember a moment of kindness you experienced and notice how it lifts you just to think of it.
The first place to focus your kindness when you’re in distress is on yourself. Imagine giving yourself a gentle, compassionate hug, one that conveys that it deeply understands what you’re feeling. You’re human. Pain comes with the territory. Let it be what it is; it will pass.
Then, once you open yourself to being accepting and kind towards yourself, however slightly, let it flow out to everybody. You never know what’s going on inside somebody else’s skin. It could be that the person right next to you needs a friendly smile as much as you do. Let your kindness touch the entire situation you’re in—everything and everyone involved.
A friend of mine sometimes says, “Love isn’t a feeling; it’s an action.” I think of that when I think about what kindness is. Just because you aren’t feeling especially generous toward someone doesn’t mean you can’t treat them with respect and consideration. Kindness means you look past your own troubles to try to help lift the load for somebody else.
And the beautiful thing is that kindness generates a kind sort of feedback loop. It’s like instant karma, returning to you the love that you give, multiplied.
I know I often encourage you to “tuck this one in your pocket,” that I hope you’ll adopt a quote or an exercise as part of your own tool chest. But I especially hope you’ll gift yourself with this one. You have your own way to store things in your mind. Maybe you make a written note of it, Maybe you just practice chanting it until you feel it embedding itself in your memory. Whatever means you use, use it with this one: “This is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Its benefits are real, and healing, and strong.
The afternoon is moist and drenched with the fragrance of lilacs, and low clouds hang in sky. The world feels dreamlike, its colors muted, its birdsong subdued. Rainstorms are coming, but not until nightfall. You can feel their approach in the air. And something else, too, is approaching, but you can’t say what. All you can do is stand there, still, waiting, watching.
From the corner of your eye, you catch a movement, a dark, darting streak and you turn your head to see, there, on the peony leaves, a damsel fly, the year’s first, its tail an iridescent turquoise and blue, its sheer wings black in the day’s low light. It seems a sign somehow, a signal that magic is afoot. Quick! Make a wish! Ask to hold onto this moment forever.
In the late afternoon, a storm moved in. The trees, busy unfolding new leaves, were unafraid, having seen storms before. They knew what to do: Stand strong; bend, unresisting, with the blows. And when the storm has passed, honor what has fallen with your reverence and love, even though you mourn your loss. Then stand, and let the sun warm you. Continue unfolding your leaves.
They stand for nothing, not for a price or a system, nor for any particular position, or concept or creed. They obey only the law of their being: Flower freely. And so they show their colors, and feed the ants and bees, decorate the roadsides, and dance in the morning breeze, asking nothing, simply being, and singing their songs. And when the stars rise and twinkle above them, their hearts are filled with pure joy.
It’s a fun job to begin with, designing flowers for Earth. You get to play with all the colors of the rainbow, every little shade and tint. And shapes? Anything you want, from the simplest to the most complex. Any size. And you get to add fragrances and leaves, to boot. Like I said, a fun job. So fun, in fact, that every now and then those Cosmic Artisans get silly, and infuse their little blossoms with giggles-come-to-life. Just for laughs. Because, oh, how they love to see us smile!
When the rain clouds parted, a narrow shaft of sunlight found the corner of the garden where a solitary iris bloomed, bronze in color, as if it had purposely come to touch the flower’s heart. And a wind came, riding on the sunlight, and the petals of the iris opened to its kiss, exposing the flower’s secret soul. And the sunlight entered in, and the iris knew that this moment was the whole reason for its being—this touch, this love, this light.
I stand in the deep vegetation at the creek’s edge stunned by the countless shades of green and by the tangled lushness of it all. A mere six weeks ago, I was hunting for the first wild flower, hoping one had poked up through the still brown and matted grass. And look now, what the spring has wrought in what feels like a blink of my awestruck eyes. God, I love May! How could You write Your Yes more clearly? How could one see this and doubt Your being!
Every time I wrote the date today, Mom, I thought of you and felt a smile that tasted like warmed honey move across my face. It was a century and two years ago, probably on a day as lovely as this one, that you were born, gifting the world with a strength and grace all your own. Now, as I note this anniversary, my heart swells with gratitude and love for you. How I feel your arms surrounding me! How I know, more deeply with every passing day, how truly beautiful you were! How indebted and grateful I am for all the gifts you so generously gave to me, and to all whose lives you touched with you gentleness and rare courage. Happy Birthday, Marion May. I love you, and always will.
