It was pouring this morning. The rain reminded me of Florida, sideways, I glanced to my left and noticed Lake Minnetonka melting. Without ice houses, the steam and foggy whisperiness emanating off the lake felt murky, unsure of itself, quavering in between seasons. I’m amazed. “Should I remove the Styrofoam covers,?” I ask my 88 year old customer Sue, the Master Gardener. “Wait,” she says. “March is the stickler.” It is a testimony to Sue, and her ardent commitment to flora expertise that I concede.
I am eager to blossom . I confessed as much all week to my friends, family and this blog; so sure am I that my confident, occasionally cocky, slightly erudite writing, thinking, manifesting, might at some point actually invite a powerful, prosperous, limitless outcome. And it has….I am experiencing more and more and more (it bears repeating) positive energetic effortless abundance. And yet, I am still waiting, patiently exhaling, softening around all potential. Stillness remains the steadfast, smart and sure name of this game.
And as I unfurl, it is my ego that will be my greatest obstacle. I want what I want when I want it. And this mantra subdues the keener, kinder more connected aspects of me. It’s frustrating to encounter the same level of resistance to change that I have dabbled and sometimes immersed myself in, over and over and over again. And yet that is ultimately the lesson: I expand and live, and as I live, I expand; so much potential, inherent possibility and pushy, pervasive purpose. I surrender.
“After the snows of March, you can take the covers off,” Sue advises. “And then the plants will start to green and the leaves will emerge, and ultimately the roses will come.” Pink or yellow, red or white, burgundy, magenta, silver, I am ready. Until then, I wait. And watch the rain, see the light reflecting off the uneven ice, smell the earth turning, taste the sweetness within. Waiting and believing, believing and waiting, I am complete, poised and spontaneously still, ready.