The Lesson of the Lilies
Sometimes we need to retreat. Sometimes, we just need to drown a dude.
I’ve had a hard week and am feeling rather off. There might be some kind of pollen-sinus-something or other going on, and the week’s politics have been painfully bad. My focus is scattered. My attention span and temper are equally short.
Here’s what I know: I need to let it all go, and spend time outside.
So today that’s what I did. I spent a long time walking around outside and just being. Just being is a wonderful exercise that I think most of us don’t do often enough. I know I don’t.
Today’s episode of just being took place at the small “upper pond” that is under construction. Right now it’s muddy and weedy, but it’s already growing water lilies.
My husband does pond clean-ups for folks, and last year a client wanted her lilies thinned out. She’s collected them from all over the world, and gave us her extras. There was no knowing what plants would produce what flowers, as they were dormant at the time. We put the plants into the upper pond for safekeeping over the winter. The big pond is too full of fish, and they eat everything you plant in there, but the little pond only has frogs.
And now it also has lilies.
So far, only two types have bloomed. You can see them in the header image.
The thing about water lilies
When it gets cold and dark, the beautiful water lilies fold their petals up and retreat beneath them. It’s as if they go to bed and pull the covers over their heads, refusing to come out again until they feel the warmth of the sun once more.
This seems like a mini-lesson to me. When things in our world become overwhelming, we might sometimes need to retreat within. We can fold up our petals, seal ourselves off from the outside world, and just be for a little while. We can close out noise. We close out light, if we want, just by closing our eyes. We can close out the demands of others, and our own incessant inner bosses. We can close out thought itself, blissful relief when one can get it.
Oh, we can’t do it all day, every day, but we can steal a moment here and there to retreat. To hide. To be quiet.
Try to quiet thought and just be for a little while. Just put your entire attention on the moment in which you exist. Immerse yourself. See how that feels.
We can re-emerge when we have to. The lucky ones among us can emerge only when they feel bathed in warmth and light, like the water lilies do.
This periodic gentle, strategic retreat is healing, soothing, and essential. That’s the lesson of the water lily’s blossom.
The thing about lily pads
The leaves of the beautiful, delicate lily are as tough as green leather. They grow as large and round as dinner plates, and can easily support the weight of a bullfrog without losing buoyancy. They are miraculous leaves, lily pads. Tiny creatures use them for basking, or as stepping stones to make their way across the water’s surface.
They also help creatures in the water, creating huge shady forests in which all manner of water beings can dwell. The broad, round leaves give fish and frogs and salamanders hiding places where they can go unseed by predators like the great blue herons, the king fishers, the squatty green herons, and the eagles.
The leaves are protective and strong. They’re also dangerous.
The Nymphs
Water lilies are called nymphaia after the nymphs of Greek mythology. These beautiful spirits lived in the water, and those tempted to get closer to them often drowned. They could be rather fickle spirits who would help some, but harm others.
Water lilies like to grow from deep mud on the bottom, and that can be dangerous and deadly too. I can imagine some young lover, wading out into the water to pluck the beautiful bloom for his beloved, only to become entangled in the lily’s strong, snakelike vines, or mired in the deep mud of its root-bed.
The water lily’s energy is all about beauty and danger. I love that combination. It’s why I write romantic thrillers.
They’re also about strategic retreat and extreme self-care.
When the lilies aren’t hiding, they are beaming. They spread their vibrant petals wide, waft their irresistible scents, show their vibrant colors. If anyone wants to attack the beautiful lily, she just smiles and whispers, “Come on, then.” And then she drowns them. The end.
Somehow both these notions make me feel better.
Today
Today I pulled in my petals and spent my time just being. Walking outside, studying nature as closely as I possibly could, identifying birds by their songs and trying to spot them to confirm my answers, noticing the first black eyed Susans are in bloom, and contemplating the spiritual lessons of lilies, all the while ready to entangle and drown anyone who dared interrupt.
This was, I believe, the best possible use of my time today. It nurtured my mind, soul, and body.
My day-job is “novelist.” Here’s my latest thriller.
