by susantara | May 28, 2021 | Bereavement |
Yesterday was my mom’s seventh angelversary: the seventh anniversary of her passing from this world into the great unknown.
And all is well.
Better than well, actually. Because the aliveness and vitality of this time of year now overshadow the 2014-2015 memories of dying and grieving.
The month of May, once again, is more about life than death, partly because of my flower friends: the whole parade that begins with daffodils and in the past couple weeks has included lilacs, lilies of the valley, and irises. Every spring, they show up and reliably and unknowingly support me and gladden my heart.
At the end of my mom’s life, flowers, friends, and family are what mattered most. That year, I made it my mission to surround her with flowers and news of what was happening in the flower world. When she was strong enough, we walked around the house looking at her flower beds, and I hoped she’d be able to see some of her flowers bloom. The flower parade was how I measured time that year.
When she wasn’t strong enough to go outdoors, and her universe narrowed down to the sofa and coffee table in the living room, I showed her my photographs of flowers. I also kept vases of freshly cut lilacs around her.
The rest of my flower memories of my mom were much happier ones. All my life, she had flower gardens. She wasn’t much of a nature girl in other respects, but she loved tending to her flowers. Memories of my mom and an abiding connection with her come strongly through flowers.
Lilies of the valley: Tiny fairy bells with an intoxicating fragrance that transports me instantly to my childhood. My swing set was right next to a flower garden that featured lilies of the valley. The memories are so strong that they could convince me the delicate blooms lasted all summer. But that’s just how big an impression the fragrance made and how closely I must have studied them after my mom pointed them out to me.
I also remember the joy of picking some for my mom, who loved the fragrance. What joy to be a young child noticing a flower and seeing it as an opportunity to make someone happy. Picking it. Feeling the anticipation of gifting it. Seeing happiness brighten the recipient’s eyes and spread into a smile. Do you remember?
Yesterday morning, my mom’s actual angelversary, I woke up knowing exactly what I wanted to photograph.
The morning she died, after leaving the hospice house, I drove straight to the labyrinth – my sacred refuge – and was greeted by irises. They were there for me that morning, uplifting me, and they are here for me every May 27th.
I didn’t pay much attention to flowers while my mom was alive (until the last few years of her life). That was her thing. For my dad, it was birds. Those are the languages in which they speak to me even now. The first messenger was irises. From day one, irises were there to connect me to the goodness and beauty in the world when I needed it most.
And so I immersed myself in photographing irises on my mom’s angelversary and reflected on how her love of flowers had become integrated in me and how it has awakened me in many ways and deepened our connection.
In Beauty: The Invisible Embrace (2005), John O’Donohue wrote:
The dead are not distant or absent. They are alongside us. When we lose someone to death, we lose their physical image and presence, they slip out of visible form into invisible presence…Though they cannot reappear, they continue to be near us and part of the healing of grief is the refinement of our hearts whereby we come to sense their loving nearness.
It feels to me that when we engage or connect with something our dearly departed one loved, we draw them near.
After photographing the irises, I walked the labyrinth and declared inwardly something my heart had known all along: All of my flower pictures are dedicated to my mom (except for water lilies, which are my thing.) When I photograph flowers, there is no separation between myself and my mother’s essence – which has become part of me. It’s almost as if I can see through her eyes.
Which is why all is well seven years later. And I make lots of photos with flowers.
© 2021 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Aug 25, 2019 | Spiritual Journey |
The air is cooler now at night. The mint in the garden has gone to seed, and the basil is trying, as well. In recent years, the muted colors and mature textures of late-summer gardens have commanded my attention. If the natural world is a mirror, then perhaps it’s my fifty-something showing. Truth is: I’m quite drawn to them.
In youth, it’s the tender flower that draws attention. The outer show. But after all the colorful petals fall off, the plant quietly and discretely continues to mature. Without the showiness of the flower to distract, the patterns at the core become visible and intriguing in their own right. Somehow it all makes a little more sense: So this was behind it all along. More of the mystery is revealed in the bare bones mandala.
Earlier in the summer, I photographed a pink poppy in full bloom and returned today to discover that this stage of its life cycle is every bit as marvelous as the flower stage, in another way. You just have to look at it a little differently, with presence and wonder and without comparing it to something it no longer is, to behold its beauty.
Later in the flower’s life, if you look closely, you’ll see there is so much going on. Profound transformation. The plant turns its attention away from being physically alluring and focuses its energy on producing seeds to give as its offering to life. A shift from petals to seedpods: seduction to deep generosity.
The pollinators let it be, and it focuses on its larger purpose. The tender petals and vibrant colors give way to interesting textures, greater strength, and individuality. It’s less delicate and fragile.
In the time between the two images above, things get very real. Superficiality falls away. What do you want to give? What kind of legacy? What will you create with this precious life? You get down to business.
Personally, I find that really sexy.
© 2019 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, Reiki practitioner, and mindfulness meditation teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Apr 3, 2016 | Spiritual Journey |
When I opened my eyes this morning, I was surprised to find the landscape covered with snow. I’d heard talk of snow in the forecast for this weekend but never checked the forecast for myself – and after yesterday’s warmth, chalked it up to an April Fool’s joke. But sure enough, the ground and the trees were white.
I sprung out of bed with my sights set on the daffodils I’d photographed yesterday in the park. It felt Really Important to photograph daffodils blooming in the snow, although I didn’t know why. I have learned to trust that feeling and didn’t waste a moment getting to the park.
As I spent time connecting with the snow-covered daffodils, it dawned on me why it was so important to photograph them. They carried a message of hope that seemed relevant to challenging times in general, and to my daughter’s current situation, in particular.
Some daffodils were fully bloomed. Others were working on opening up more. Some were still closed, with tips swollen and yellow. Most had some snow on them, and some were more weighed down than others by snow. The message that came through is: Don’t give up because you wake up one morning and find yourself weighed down by a clump of snow on your back. It’s not going to last. The snow that is weighing you down at this moment is temporary. It will melt. In the meantime, keep your face to the sun.
I photographed one daffodil that had what looked like a petal of snow hanging from it.
The instant after I snapped the picture, a small twig broke free from being tangled up with other twigs and smacked the snow petal off of the daffodil. Just like that, the snow was gone.
Several minutes later, a gust of wind came along and blew the snow off some of the other daffodils.
Meanwhile, the sun was rising in the sky and becoming warmer and would melt the rest of the snow in time. But you might not even have to wait for the warmth of the sun to melt the snow from your petals because the wind or a twig – or even a person or animal passing by – might come along and remove your burden in an instant. Your situation can change in a heartbeat. New information, possibilities, and answers have been known to fall from the sky. Be aware and receptive.
As these associations came through the snow-covered daffodils, I spoke them into my voice recorder. I thought of my daughter and felt eager to share my daffodil insights with her, even though I realized it might be one of those “you had to be there” instances that wouldn’t transmit as powerfully as it was experienced. As I was recording, I looked up, and a woman appeared walking on the path hand-in-hand with a very young girl. They were heading in my direction, and I guessed the little girl was younger than two years old. The pair instantly brought to mind my daughter and infant granddaughter. They also brought tears to my eyes because it felt like a serendipitous occurrence. I sensed the Universe was both reinforcing my insights and assuring me that my daughter and granddaughter would be okay by showing me this woman and very young girl walking peacefully along the path.
It turned out they were the only people I saw the whole time I was at the park.
Keep blooming. Don’t become discouraged. We have no idea how quickly circumstances – like the weather – can change. Yesterday, it was sunny and warm. This morning, the ground is covered with snow. But it will be gone soon. Don’t give up, even when the cold stings your back, and the weight of it all pushes you down.
You have the warm sun – whatever source of light you have in your life. (There is a source of light in everyone’s life.) Trust it. In time, it will melt the snow.
Don’t become disheartened. You never know who will cross your path and what conversation might change your course. Be receptive to all the assistance that is available to you and discerning about what kind you are willing to accept. Be wise. But don’t wait for someone to come along and rescue you. Show up. Do what you can, without overdoing. Put all your energy into blooming. Have faith that the Universe will help you do it. Even when there’s more snow in the forecast, realize it won’t last. The sun grows stronger every day.
© 2016 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this blog post, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness mentor whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Mar 2, 2016 | Bereavement, Engaging the Magic |
For as long as I can remember – even as a young girl – my mother was a gardener. She wasn’t an outdoor person like I am, but she loved her gardens. For years after we moved out of the house where we spent the first 13 years of my life, whenever we’d drive by the old house, she’d wonder how her gardens were doing. Wherever she once had a garden was holy ground.
My mom tended her flower gardens with great care until the final spring of her life, when she was too weak. I’m grateful she kept a garden because it presented me with a wonderful birthday gift yesterday, nearly two years after she passed on. Normally, the garden is buried beneath a blanket of snow on my birthday, but not this year. This year, the bare ground greeted me with tiny, purple flowers.
What did she say to the flowers to awaken them from their winter slumber just in time for my birthday? And what made me notice the tiny, purple blooms after paying no attention to the garden since the parsley was overcome by frost last fall?
Two years ago, as my mom withered from pancreatic cancer, there was no telling how long she’d stay alive. I hoped she’d at least be able to see the first flowers come up. I looked for any signs of them and began to share the “flower report” with her as soon as I noticed any indications, beginning with the first daffodil shoots outside my classroom windows. When she was too weak to walk around the neighborhood, I told her about the neighbors’ tulips, which meant hers would bloom soon, too. When she was too weak to walk around the yard, I photographed her perennials so she could see how they were coming along. Seeing pictures of flowers made her smile.
We made the most of lilac season that year. I showed her pictures of the first buds on the lilac tree in my yard and hoped they would hurry up and bloom so she could experience them one last time…which she did. I kept her well stocked with lilacs that May – the last month of her life. I put them up to her nose so she could smell their sweet fragrance and kept vases of fresh lilacs close to her to lift her spirits. It was the best I could do.
Now that she is without a human voice, she speaks to me through flowers – and music – because they are what she loved. To see the year’s first flowers in her garden on my birthday was no small thing.
There’s a plaque in my mom’s garden that reads, “Love grows here.” It’s true. Love continues to grow, even after she has passed beyond this world. All the love she put into her garden carries on.
So plant a garden, however you can, if you are so inclined. Plant a garden that will continue to bloom even after you are gone, and fill your loved ones’ hearts with gladness.
© 2016 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this blog post, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness mentor whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
by susantara | Oct 11, 2015 | Engaging the Magic, Spiritual Journey |
This morning, I walked by three morning glories on my way back into the house. They looked a bit wrinkled – not as smooth, plump, and vibrant as the morning glories that were in full bloom during the warmer weather. But good for them for blooming anyway! As I passed one of the morning glories, I heard, “Better late than never!” as if the flower had transmitted those words directly into my mind. Or at any rate, that’s what the image of the morning glory awakened in me on this chilly, mid-October morning. And it really resonates.
Since returning from retreat two weeks ago, my energy has been strong and flowing and seems to be on a higher frequency than I’ve ever experienced before. It feels like all kinds of new energy is available to me now – energy I have blocked all my life but am finally open and receptive to. (It feels like new neural pathways have opened up!) And along with that comes the need to resist the urge to kick myself for having lived my life as I did until now. All those years when I could have incorporated this energy of greater freedom and abundance that seemed off-limits to me! But thoughts like that don’t serve a constructive purpose, and my speculation is that a few decades isn’t even a drop in the bucket in the lifetime of a soul.
That morning glory inspired me with the message: Don’t die without blooming! Make sure you bloom in this life, while you can. Don’t die with all your colors closed inside you.
The flowers I saw this morning have had the opportunity to open completely, share their colors, and experience both the sun shining on them and a person being inspired by them – and probably the act of pollination, as well. As I write these words, they are experiencing what happens when their colors interact with sunlight and glisten, pearlescent. They are finally experiencing the magic they were made for! They didn’t give up, believing it’s too late in the year and that they missed the boat so to speak, so why bother blooming at this point? They went ahead and did it anyway because there was something inside them that needed to be expressed.
But there’s more.
I came back inside, took off my shoes, and contemplated how perfectly that morning glory message speaks to me. And then my intuition kicked in. It guided me to go back outside and see if there are any morning glories blooming near the Buddha statue in the back yard. That’s another place where they have been coming up this year, but I haven’t paid much attention or been in that area of the yard in a while. And it was chilly outside! I didn’t really feel like putting my shoes back on and going outside again just yet. I wanted to get warm.
But then I felt that nudge again: Go outside and take a look! So I put my shoes back on and went outside. And I found one morning glory – just one – blooming right at the Buddha’s heart center!
There’s a message living in that image, too (perhaps pertaining to the opening of the heart?) for I filled with awe and satisfaction upon seeing it. And there were no other morning glories anywhere. This was the only one in the entire back yard!
I could stop writing here and go outside and enjoy this beautiful, fall day…but I’d like to say a little more about intuition.
I have been practicing following my intuition lately and have learned that I tend to receive gifts and blessings when I go where intuition pulls me and my energy wants to flow. A few examples from yesterday come to mind.
Yesterday morning, I was outside photographing the misty sunrise on the river and suddenly felt compelled to drive to a park down the road. I didn’t know why but sensed something was there for me. So I went to the park and didn’t find much in the way of scenery calling to me. But when I walked back to my car, an acquaintance greeted me. After some brief small chat, he asked me if I lost a lens cap. Well, I have lost a few lens caps over the past several months, and I was about to buy a new one. For quite some time, I’ve had one fewer lens caps than lenses and have been using a UV filter as a makeshift cap. And then, out of nowhere, this man produced a lens cap that fit my camera like Cinderella’s slipper fit her foot.
Later in the day, I was drawn to the Holistic Healing and Spiritual Arts Expo in town. I was interested in the keynote presentation and resolved to make it to the expo in time for that. Turns out I misremembered the time and missed the presentation, but many gifts were in store at the expo. For instance, a woman gave me a pure light blessing that raised my energy vibration in ways I can’t describe in words, other than to say that it felt like I was glowing like a sun and was a completely open, unobstructed channel for the life energy flowing through me. (And I’m still experiencing it!)
In this open state, I had an amazing conversation with a hypnotherapist and felt so inspired by and connected to her. Our stories were similar, for she left a career in nursing to pursue an entrepreneurial path as a healer. She understood where I’m at, for she had been there herself. As I spoke with her, I felt completely uninhibited about sharing my story and what I have been learning along the way. Conversations like that are healing in and of themselves – and a great source of inspiration.
There were nearly 30 vendor booths, and I perused items for sale with appreciation for the artistry but without any intention of making a purchase. Then I came to one table that featured crystals, rocks, and gemstones and couldn’t walk away, for a small tray of opalized ammonite fossils (ammolites) called to me. I had never seen anything like them before and was completely transfixed by them – and one in particular. (Was it the spiral pattern? The iridescence? The energy?)
When I picked it up, it felt right in my hand – again, like Cinderella’s slipper – and I couldn’t put it down! After about 10 minutes, I decided that it belonged with me. When I got home, I researched ammonite/ammolite and learned it has strong, transformational properties as a result of going through so much transformation and absorbing so much earth energy over eons. Common uses of ammonite include: activating life path energies, attracting prosperity and success, and building a new business from small beginnings. No wonder I felt so drawn to it!
As I mentioned above, originally I intended to keep this short and only write about the morning glory. But intuition is part of the greater story that the morning glory is part of, and it is at the forefront of my awareness and practice at this time. My working theory is that when we force our energy to flow to places that aren’t a good fit for us, we miss out on the incredible power of intuition and shut ourselves off from a tremendous amount of energy that is available when we follow intuition. This brings to mind one of my favorite quotes, from Thoreau: “Dwell as near as possible to the channel in which your life flows.”
And so the experiment continues!
© 2015 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this blog post, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness mentor whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.
