We come home from a trip and one of the first things I do is check on Daphne, my cyclamen. We’ve been gone just long enough that I should have asked my neighbor to water her while she was visiting the pup but I didn’t and poor Daphne is now drooping. Bags down, pup snuggled, I water her. This sweet plant who sits on my desk, this sweet plant who consistently blooms the prettiest pink flowers, this sweet plant who, even when I occasionally forget to water her and she subsequently droops, will within the hour (in less than 60 minutes!) perk right back up as if I never neglected her. But this time, she takes longer to un-droop and I worry that I may have done it this time.
I see a little rise in her stems before going to bed yet remain unconvinced, feel terrible. I know she’s a plant. But do you see? She’s a plant. The next morning she seems better, less droopy and I think that she’ll make it. I watch her for the next few days, closely, patiently, apologetically. On the third day, I see new blooms unfolding and existing blooms reaching up instead of down. I breathe a small sigh of relief.
I gently pluck the stems that continue to turn downward and whose petals are browning and curling at the edges, the ones that will never bounce back. I pluck the yellowing leaves as well. I think to when the kids were little, how it used to pain my daughter when we deadheaded flowers, me trying to explain that clipping away the old, fading blooms makes room for new ones, that cutting back allows for fresh growth and fullness, that taking away what the plant no longer needs allows it to give over its energy, in full, to what awaits.
It’s a hard lesson at 7, is perhaps a hard lesson whatever the age, to understand (to give over to) this idea of cutting back, paring down, making (more) simple. How can that be enough we think, except that it pretty much always is: less not more, quieter not louder, deeper not shallower, easier not harder. Daphne gives her energy to what awaits and what’s arising, teaches me, models living for me. And I know she’s a plant…. but do you see?
The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak.
~ Hans Hoffman ~
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10 thoughts on “unnecessary”
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Thank you, Gina. I’m glad you found it so ❤️
I absolutely do see! Gentle smiles to both you and Daphne.
and a smile now to you…
I do see. For the last few days, I have been looking at my studio, deciding what works at this point in my life. Can I clear out so what’s festering comes to light? it’s a challenge.
It’s a challenge for sure, Sue. Wishing you ease and patience with self as you consider and (possibly) make some shifts. Here’s to the light…
thank you, same to you
I see! I keep a close eye on mine as I’m not known for keeping plants going, and she is still doing fine, yay! But yes, simplicity is a life goal!
I’m so glad your cyclamen is still doing fine!!! And, for the record, I’m not known for keeping plants going either, but I’ve been doing better the last few years… there’s hope! Your cyclamen is a perfect companion for you.