Dried Flowers and Distant Memories

Today, I had the pleasure of a long, leisurely conversation with a dear friend who always makes me look at the world from a slightly different perspective and who always encourages me to open my eyes to the simple beauty which surrounds me.  We were talking about creating space in our lives to be able to live in such moments, and the clutter which often robs us of such a vista.  It seemed to us, we often willing, even lovingly, cling to this clutter as a way of remembering such moments in our past and in the process rob ourselves of the capacity to see in the present.  As my friend was sharing her thoughts an image came to my mind of a book and a dried flower.

Actually, it was more of a memory than an image.  A friend had given me the collected works of John Steinbeck as a groomsman’s gift years ago.  He wrote a nice inscription in the front cover and the book is something which was displayed on our bookshelf for many years.  Several years ago, I took the book off the shelf to dust it and found in its back pages a pressed, dried flower.  It had long since lost its scent and its soft velvet petals had been transformed into a stiff, brittle mass which crumbled each time it was touched or moved.

When I discovered the dried flower I was not surprised.  I remember placing it between the pages of the volume soon after our own wedding.  It was a flower from Tammie’s bouquet.  Over the years when I would stumble upon the dried flower I would remember where it came from and what it represented.  Sometimes I might even call out to Tammie, “Look, the flower from your wedding bouquet.” I would always place it back between the pages and put it back upon the shelf. 

The last time I stumbled across this memento I took a brief moment to look at it for what it had become, not for the memory it held.  It was a dead, dry flower which was falling apart.  While it was a placeholder for a memory, it in no way adequately represented the beauty of my bride, or the flowers that she held, as she walked down the aisle towards me on our wedding day.  When I close my eyes, I can clearly see her radiant beauty.  The years have not erased the moment from my memory, but they were not so kind to the flower.  They turned it into a poor depiction of a beautiful moment. Because of this, I threw the flower out.

Before you crucify me as an unsentimental clod, remember there is no one who enjoys drinking in a moment more than I do.  I savor beauty and often pause to let it soak into my soul. I treasure the sacred spaces where hearts are open, awareness gives birth to discovery, laughter binds together and the capacity to simply be present to one another is cultivated. I treasure the tapestry which is woven when lives intersect over time and find myself both humbled and grateful at having so many which have been interwoven through years and years of relationship.

And yet, I do not want to hold any of these moments, or the clutter which I have accumulated over time to remember them, so tight that they prevent me from creating the simplicity of space necessary to discover the beauty of the present moment.

When I was younger, I did not recognize how one competed with the other, and so I pressed flowers into books. Now, I see it.  I have come to understand I have a finite ability to hold things.  There is only so much I can cling to before my capacity is filled. I see how the things I hold on to take up more than just space in my house. The recognition of these things is an invitation to learn to let go.

Looking down at that dried flower I realized it had let go long ago, even though I had done all I could do to hold on to it.  Throwing it away was simply a way of acknowledging this truth.

I shared this image with my friend and we let it soak in.

A little later in the morning we moved our conversation into my friend’s office and she drew my attention to a vase of flowers which had been on her desk and which were now near a sink.  As recently as the day before they were vibrant and beautiful, but overnight they had wilted.  They were now ready to be discarded and replaced.  She said, “Some things simply cannot be held onto.” 

She is right.  And yet, we often spend so much energy trying to hold on to that which has already withered.  This is true with more in life than just flowers. 

While something is blooming I say, recognize its beauty.  Be inspired by it.  It is right to take notice, to enjoy the space it fills.  Learn the discipline of savoring it.  Let the sweetness of its scent fill your nostrils.  Rub your finger tips to across its soft petals.  Place it where it can be illumined by the morning light which streams through the window. Allow your eyes to drink in its beauty often, for as long as it last, but do not cling to it too tightly.

Be willing to let it go, for chances are the space which is created when you do will allow you to see the beauty of that which is readying itself to bloom.