Searching For Light
and finding color, texture and the power of routine
It’s spring and I’m searching for light, but it’s hard.
A day after I created this image of the daffodils in our kitchen window, I learned that a friend’s son had died by suicide.
As I do, I went to the garden, still searching for light, which I found.
And a few days later, there was no sun, only contrasts and texture.
Even the yellow daffodils felt sad, drooping from heavy rains, alone in a sea of green.
So many are alone.
When I created these images, I’d just learned that someone else we know died by suicide - - the same day as our friend’s son.
A burst of pink from the PJM Rhododendron…The emerging flowers demand attention.
Even when there is no sun, there can be color…
…Like this sea of green Solomon Seal with dots of purple Lungwort below.
A few days later, when wandering through The Bishop’s Garden at The National Cathedral, there was a still fountain filled with flower petals.
It was raining. I wanted light, anywhere, and there were these iridescent blooms.
Memento Mori.1
The next day, I went for a walk around Friendship Heights, where my friends and I were staying, and it was raining, again.
It didn’t feel very friendly.
All I saw was abandonment…
…and all I experienced was isolation and the exhaustion I can feel when too tired to be alone, but also too tired to be with anyone else either.
Is that what this young man and this young grandmother were feeling when they decided to end their lives? I’ll never know.
Were they looking for light too?
And if they were, were they just too tired to see the beauty of the color, shapes and textures that persist, even when it is gray?
When I got home a few days ago, it was sunny - - Almost too sunny. I’d been looking for the light, but then it overwhelmed.
In times like this, I focus on routine, like picking daffodils from the garden and putting them in a vase on the kitchen windowsill…
…and taking a walk and remembering to look at my feet, and honoring that even when I can’t find the light and when I can’t see the color or textures, I can see my feet firmly planted on the ground and know that I just need to keep showing up.
That is what all those buckets of compost taught me. Just keep showing up.
Because when the sun is too bright or it stops shining again, I can still go pick flowers and put them in vases and place them on the kitchen windowsill.
And then, like magic, when I start paying attention to color and texture, there will be light.
And that light, revealing itself in these particular flower petals, beckons.
“You are never alone,” it says.
“Sometimes it might be hard to see me, but I’m here, in hidden fountains, sidewalks and flowers in the garden.”
Soon after I created these images, there was loud clash of thunder and then a short downpour.
My heart bleeds, but seeing these bleeding hearts reminds me that there is beauty and love…at least 13 tons of it…right there on my windowsill.
Wherever you are, please take care…And pass along the national suicide and crisis hotline number: Just dial 988.
As always, thank you for sharing your time and this space with me.
With gratitude for you being you,
Lyn
If someone you know might find this post of value, please share it. Sometimes we need reminders to see color and texture when we are looking for light but can’t find it. And if inspired, please share your thoughts below (click on comments here).
In Latin, Memento Mori literally means “Remember You/We Must Die.” The idea of “remembering death” has a long history in European art and culture and has the potential to wake us up and pay closer attention to our own aliveness. I am discovering that the more I accept this reality, the easier it is to live fully and with less fear.
Your flower photos are gorgeous. I haven’t seen bleeding hearts in years.