The first thing I loved while walking towards Publix grocery store here in Orlando, FL was the Astor wildflower growing untamed alongside the busy road. The walk between my brother's house, where I am currently visiting, and the nearest store is 1.2 miles of groomed green and asphalt. Cars passed by me and airplanes flew overhead. No one passed by foot other than what grew underneath me.
After seeing the daisy, I noticed other weeds of wonder webbed between the chunky green blades of grass. I noticed pinecones resembling green bean cousins of more familiar northeastern pine cones. There were waxy circular weeds that whirled around with thin waists and drops of golden sun in their centers. I loved all of these wayward wildlings.
My walk became enchanted. I could feel sweat curling down my sides and my mouth curling up in a grin as I strode ahead.
As I walked, I considered the words I had earlier read by Rick Rubin. I thought about how he mentioned connecting to "Source," that word source I had heard another person use the week before self-referentially in relationship to a leadership title. I thought about how the illustration on the cover of Ricks's book is familiar because I had learned about an esoteric healing practice called 'Source Point,' an energetic matrix system connecting all of life, and the illustration is similar. But Rick is not a Source Point practitioner. He is a record producer, and the illustration is the overview of a vinyl record spinning. I thought about a point of connection we all share and spin around, each of us creating our own unique sounds. I thought about how we are all, at some point, a source of something to others.
I thought about how Rick used different words than myself, but I already knew what he was saying because it was what I had been hearing inside myself. It's familiar. When I read his words, I feel them. There is a recognition and a resonance, and my eyes swell with the ocean within me. This is also true when I read Agnes Martin's writings, Rumi and Mary Oliver’s poems, or Rilke's letters.
I have been mentioning my residency in Iceland in these last few newsletters, and I will do it again here. When I went to Iceland, I would wake and read Rumi. His words provided affirmation. Initially, I thought it was inspiration, but I began to recognize myself in the words or recognize my understanding. (I love that word: "Understanding" what we stand upon). Rumi's poems were powerful affirming mirrors to my soul, "yes, yes, yes," they said. After a week of being in Iceland, I stopped reading Rumi every morning because I wanted to hear the sound of the ocean within me.
Each morning I would gear up for Icelandic weather, which was windy, wet, and bright. I would go outside with a red bucket and meet the day. Each day I would wander and notice patterns. Sometimes filling my bucket with sea water or sand or to turning over to sit on. I noticed sheets of lost plastic that wrapped wheels of hay now undulating in the ocean, mimicking the kelp. I noticed rocks on the cliffside that gnashed like gnarly old-person teeth, yellow dandelions opening and closing with the sun, and stars dancing on still water. I noticed I felt entranced. I felt this way yesterday walking to Publix.
Yesterday, noticing the wild weed. I noticed it grew anyway. I was struck by its audacity to take root where it landed, turn its head to the sky, and open its arms to the sun despite the odds of where it was, without familiar company, without permission, without someone giving it a well groomed garden bed. I am so grateful it did because it is the most beautiful thing to see here in Orlando, FL.
When we love someone's writing, dancing, painting, etc., it's because it enlivens a part of ourselves. It can be a nudge of energy touching an unseen but beautiful part of ourselves growing anyway, something wild. What we love outside of ourselves, we can also cultivate in ourselves. This is not a chore but rather an act of devotion or giving attention to what we love.
As Rick says: “Notice what you notice that no one else sees.”
As Rilke says: "Be attentive to what is arising within you and place that above everything else... What is happening in your innermost self is worthy of your entire love; somehow you must find a way to work at it."
As Rumi says: “Let the beauty you love be what you do.”
As Mary says: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.”
As Agnes says: “Artwork is representation of our devotion to life.”
What are you noticing? What is growing anyway?