I’ve been drawn to rough-wave beaches since I was a child gathering snails, mussels and seaweed on the Massachusetts coast. Placid beaches have their place—their calm serenity beckons relaxation.
But stony beaches evoke exploration. Who are we?
Every rock is one of a kind. As are we.
I notice dips and divots, as well as overall shape. Noticing isn’t the same as judging.
Some stones are divided by color but remain united as one entity. Differences can draw us together.
Others have intriguing veins and holes where water runs through or collects. Allow the hollows to be filled to overflowing.
Scuttling crabs use rocks as shelters during daring trips to the surf. Dare to venture from what shelters you—be open to possibility.
These stones are in close proximity, but are not touching. Give those you love room to breathe, then they are more likely to remain close.
I am very aware of the variations within each rock. We are composed of many layers—appreciate each one, for together they create unique you.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
If you like these blogs, you’ll most likely enjoy my latest daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you haven’t read Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, another daily devotional, you may like that, as well.
Summer is well underway at the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens. Otherworldly nigella, also known as love-in-a-mist, waves wildly at me with its many appendages. It definitely wants to be noticed. Sometimes I feel like I’m flailing my arms about trying to garner God’s attention—I forget that I always have it.
Other flowers take a different approach: drawing me in with texture or delicate patterning. What natural gifts do I have that draw others towards me?
A Matilija poppy is completely open, revealing its center. How often am I able to fully open myself to Spirit, holding nothing back?
I have to crouch down to see a trio of tiny plants, each with distinctively different leaves. But no matter how different they are, all belong to the plant kingdom. How do I reconcile different aspects of myself that may seem contradictory?
Now I have to stand up and step back to witness waves of color.
Beds are bursting with brightness. Do I hide my true colors or let them shine?
The black blotches on the ladybird poppy are what make it distinctive, even though it can appear to be a flaw. Which of my “flaws” are really strengths?
The time has come to leave the gardens, but I make one last stop at the flowering onion. It is almost ready to shed its paper cap, revealing buds on the verge of blossom. Am I ready to bloom?
Dahlia gardens are like lazy summer afternoons combined with tropical-hued firework displays—they simultaneously relax and thrill the observer. Imagine magenta and orange Adirondack chairs placed in the emerald grass surrounding the beds. Sit down. Enjoy a glass of slightly tart lemonade. It even has a cherry and pineapple garnish speared by a miniature pink parasol.
Doesn’t it feel good to unwind? Take a deep breath through your nose. You won’t smell the dahlias because very few varieties are scented. No overpowering perfume in the air to interfere with tasting your beverage and dessert. Oh, did I forget to mention there is a plate of sugar-dusted lemon squares resting on a brightly colored tile table next to you? Each one is placed on a white paper doily.
Relax. The bees won’t bother you or your treats because they’re so satisfied sipping dahlia nectar.
Even dahlia debris is delightful. Don’t worry about the wheelbarrow of deadheaded dahlias robbing you of pleasure as your eyes flit about. Listen to the subtle music made by pollinators as they buzz from flower to flower.
Even a moment in the garden is like a prayer sweetly swaying up towards the heavens. And gratitude comes naturally. You are now ready to face the rest of your day.
The holiday season is so full of juxtapositions. I noted this as I walked through the “working gardens” of the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens. The outer ledge of a decrepit shed displayed a festive red-capped gnome alongside a plump bird companion. They seemed delighted to oversee the grounds.
A crimson and yellow machine, having seen better days, still gave off a certain rustic charm.
A couple of latches reminded me how the holidays can make me feel penned in. Expectations float in the air: the desire for gifts, perfection, familial love. Moving toward my inner spirit is what calms this sense of being trapped.
I passed pairs of hinges. Hmm. Such devices allow both closing and opening. Perhaps I needed to open myself to the joy the season can bring.
As I contemplated this, I became oblivious to my surroundings—until a brilliant, magical chair beckoned me to enjoy its presence. It felt like God welcoming me with open arms—a tender gesture of embrace. Isn’t that Christmas in a nutshell? The fragile vulnerability of the Christ child, arms raised, ready to be held and loved?
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 