Sunflower Magic

Sunflowers are magical to me. They delight and draw forth the childlike wonder that dwells within my heart. I planted mammoth sunflower seeds this year...an entire package of seeds...in the hopes that one for each of my twelve grandchildren would grow where is was planted.

A few of my lovely and more than eager granddaughters helped me plant the seeds. Three seeds we planted in a pot, and the other seeds we planted in my small garden that has the most hours of sunlight near the deck steps and my garden shed.

I shared with each of my grandchildren that these tiny sunflower seeds would grow up to twelve feet tall...taller than each of their fathers. Their eyes grew large with pure delight. Really? Really! It will take time, but we will be here to witness the magic.

My garden is bordered by woods and is located on the eastern side of the house. The side of the house that gets full sun and faces south, where sunflowers thrive the most, is only 15 feet away from our neighbor's house.

Since our homes are close together, the hours of full sunlight and available garden space dwindles each year. However, I was optimistic about growing sunflowers. I had to try.

"Grow babies grow," we whispered to the seeds planted.

Gardening is all about trusting in the unseen hidden magic held within Mother Earth, the sun, the water, and the loving attention/intention and tending by the gardeners.

We plant, we tend, we let go, and we surrender the outcome.

Perhaps

we do not need to speak.

Perhaps we just simply sit

with the sunflowers and send them our love.

The seeds emerge from the soil

with the shell of the sunflower seed

opening to a green sprout slowly rising from the dark soil into the light.

They begin to grow taller on skinny tender stems that make us wonder if they can grow stronger as they grow taller...before rabbits, birds, or squirrels eat their tender beginnings.

Taller they do grow.

A bit thicker in the stalk.

The green bracts rest against one another.

The bud is heavy

with what is has not yet

been revealed.

Somewhere within that green embrace

the gold petals are breathing out of sight.

I wonder

if the flower knows

that we are watching.

Perhaps it does not even matter.

The sunflower is not performing

it is becoming.

It is simply becoming.

Slowly.

During the warmth of the day

and the coolness of the night.

In the hidden movements between

one morning and the next.

Look closely.

The light does not

seem to becoming from

anywhere.

It simply touches what is

already here.

A leaf.

A vein.

The curve of the bud.

The fine hairs along the surface

catching the morning light.

The green is luminous.

Nothing seems to have changed and the light moves on.

And yet, everything is illuminated.

The buds follow the light

of the sun across the sky

from morning 'til night.

Perhaps this is enough.

To be touched by the light

without needing to become

something other than ourselves.

To remain quiet

while something within us

takes its own shape.

To trust in the unseen

without insisting

that it reveal itself.

The sunflower waits.

Not impatiently.

Not hopefully.

It simply rests

inside the mystery

of its own unfolding.

And of course,

I find myself wondering.

How much of life

might already be complete

even while it is still

becoming?

There are petals

I cannot see.

There is gold

I cannot touch.

There is a center

forming in silence.

The unseen does not mean

the unreal.

Sometimes

what is hidden

is simply what

is still tender.

So perhaps I will not ask

for the flower to open.

I will sit beside

the unopened buds

in the sun.

I will feel the warmth

on my skin.

Listen to the leaves

moving against one another.

Notice the earth

beneath my feet.

Breathe.

And let the quiet be enough.

Perhaps the illumination

is not the moment

when darkness disappears.

Perhaps it is the moment

when we become quiet

enough

to recognize

the light that was

already there.

The sunflower does not

manufacture the sun.

It receives it.

And slowly,

almost imperceptibly,

it becomes capable

of revealing

what it has received.

So let yourself be still.

Let yourself receive.

There is no need

to open today.

There is no need to know

what tomorrow will bring.

For now,

rest in the green.

Let the gold remain

where it is.

Let the light touch you

without explanation.

The quiet

that illuminates.

We simply remain here

for another breath,

with what is becoming -

quietly,

gently,

in its own time.

And when the petals

finally loosen,

may they open

not because

they were commanded.

but because

they have become ready.