The Pasque flower is blooming in the Colorado foothills. A couple of weeks ago, I passed a neighbor on the trail, and we remarked to each other that we hadn’t seen any evidence of the wildflower yet. And just like that, their lavender faces have appeared.
The Pasque are harbingers of blossom season up here–the first to push their way through the sandy soil. And it’s always a relief to see them because I know warmer, brighter days are ahead.
Last Saturday was one of those sunny days, and I was outside practicing Qoya with some friends when somebody used the phrase, “the relief of blooming.” It reminded me of my beloved Pasque. It also reminded me of those moments in life when we’ve held tightly to something for a long, long time, then suddenly decide to let it go. That moment of sweet release into the blossoming we allow for ourselves when we surrender.
You can experiment with this idea in your body. Take a deep breath in and while you hold it, squeeze every possible muscle as tight as you can. Then when you can’t keep your breath in for one second longer, let every muscle go and exhale with a sigh. It’s that moment I’m trying to describe.
In an instant, if you so choose, you can decide to let go of that niggling worry, that unhealthy habit, that pattern of regretful behavior. The remark that hurt, the sad memory, the old wound. The job, the house, the relationship…all the things that seem impossible to surrender. In a word: control.
“We walk invisibly cocooned with all that we wish to control,” says Sarah Blondin, a storyteller, author and meditation guide. “And what we are trying to hold in place, may be our dreams trying to come into form.”
When we choose to simply let go of what we cannot control (which is pretty much everything except ourselves, by the way), we bust open that cocoon. We allow in light and nourishment. We open to Divine grace. We coax our dreams into form.
Surrendering compels us to put down what feels heavy, to drop the bowling balls we’re juggling. Then we can breathe in and remember the colors and textures of our fullest selves. I’ve often been amazed when I release the heavy stuff, how much energy I have been expending trying to hold it. The relief is sudden and palpable.
Of course, being open like a blossom is a vulnerable state. Yes, we can be hurt. But after feeling the hurt, we can choose not to carry it. Vulnerability is where the truth is. And to me, truth is beauty.
There is an ancient legend that says that the Pasque flower blooms only in places where the blood of warriors has soaked deep into the soil. That warrior blood is evidence of struggle and pain. But, at the same moment, it is nourishment for the flower to push through the ground, open, and show its truest, most lovely face to the world.
