What leaves me gob smacked about the Mendocino area’s headlands in the spring is the sheer volume of flowers that flourish there.
Whether planted,
natural,
or a combination of both,
the blooms often continue as far as the eye can see.
I often feel embraced by them,
especially when I get down to their level.
Hugs can be hard to come by these days. But allowing the embrace of benevolence—through the natural world—can soothe us.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my most recent daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
I have been feeling dizzy, off kilter, half asleep—as if I have been living in a disturbing dream. I was banned from going to my familiar places—the places that make me whole.
Forbidden from seeing the tiny treasures tucked into the headland fields—like California poppy pods and Vinca major buds.
But this week a trail opened that snakes along the cliffs of the Pacific.
And my dizziness left me amid a wash of wild radish and buckhorn plantain.
I witnessed two bugs, covered with pollen, wrestling on the petals of a poppy.
Pondered a piece of nesting material floating atop emerald grasses.
Saw seed heads joined, tangled, entwined.
I am once again completely awake.
How do I pay attention to both my inner and outer life? When I zoom in to see what’s going on inside a California poppy (a triune snail retreat!), I don’t see the big picture.
When I zoom out I can view the vista, but miss the delicacies of Vinca major’s pinwheel petals. As I ponder this, an undulating movement catches my eye: a chartreuse caterpillar whose single inky black “eye” stares back at me. Hmm, like the ebb and flow of the waves, I can seamlessly travel in and out.
A plethora of petals greets me as I peer down at the trail. The inner realm can be disjointed as in dreams…
I look past two pairs of pussy willows to the Pacific. I realize I can quickly change my focus from the silky fur of the flower buds to the not-so-distant ocean. My inner self giggles with glee, while outwardly I appear pensive.
The poppies invite me back “in” as I reflect on their fleeting lives—dewy fresh,
filled with light, open…
I’m zooming out again to the rocky shoreline. Great swathes of red ice plants cover one cliff. Resilient daffodils poke through a web of stems and leaves, their brave yellow faces alert. Wild waves churn and break.
Grassy weeds slither and shake. Does the growth within me work its way to the surface becoming the outer me? Am I prickly or soft? Curious or indifferent?
Back to the poppy. Its petals are open but its stamens curled in self-embrace. Open. Closed. Inner. Outer. I contain all opposites. We all do. It is part of our divine nature, the image given to us by God.
I began my walk in a field. Wild cucumber wound its way through the tall grasses and I noticed an elongated fly-eyed insect on one of the creamy white blooms. Its jagged-edged legs matched the edges of the deep green leaves of the plant. Just beside this scene was a flat area the size of a plate filled with the tiniest pea-like flowers in shades of pink, yellow and white. Each bloom was no more than the size of a lentil, yet boasted an intricate design. And then I saw a ladybug crawling on newly forming rattlesnake grass heads. I couldn’t help but marvel at God’s attention to detail.
I came to a bush bursting with bunches of purple-blue blooms that gave off a feeling of feathery lightness. Pink and red ice plant flowers nearly scorched my eyes with their brightness.
I looked to my left, and a soothing balm of green and light blue relaxed my eyes. The field was dotted with Douglas iris and California poppies. Beige seed heads swayed to the rhythm of the wind almost disappearing into the paleness of the sky.
Down at my feet more color popped into view through spindly blades of grass: delicious orange and striped purple petals.
More flora joined the fun—yellow and blue stars had fallen from the heavens to sprinkle the ground with celestial joy.
Cypress trees beckoned me with their cone-heavy arms to follow the trail to the ocean. I complied.
A breathtaking vista greeted me: fuchsia-hued flowers spilled down a craggy bluff to the frothy jade-turquoise sea. The beauty was so intense I had to sit down lest I fall. Spontaneous psalms of gratitude formed in my head as I breathed the salty air. Paradise.
Almost instantly upon beginning my walk on the sandy bluff, I was struck by the profusion of life there. Clumps of green grass backlit by the sun held their blades high in joy. Ice plants threw their plump red arms upwards in jubilation. A fuzzy black caterpillar undulated past my sneaker, its spiky hairs radiating outwards.
I took a short trail down to the beach and saw a group of buzzards crowded around a “find.” As I approached most flew away, but one held out, extending its wings to protect what I now believed to be a carcass. When it gave up and took wing, I noticed many bird footprints surrounding what I later learned was most likely a prenatal gray whale. The fetal jaws were still fused shut; it must have been stillborn. Nearby lay a dying ice plant flower.
As I passed more dead, yet beautiful, ocean life in the form of seaweed, I contemplated the juxtaposition of life and death. Everything I looked at seemed to be reaching outwards…towards an unknown source.
As I climbed back up the steep hill a bright yellow flower burst into view. It created temporary shelter for a hairy-legged spider. A few steps away, against a miniature headstone-like rock, three-leaf clovers cast shadows that resembled balloons rising, ready to float into the sky and disappear.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 