Dead Flowers Can Be Arranged Too
Enter the Unknown
My fingers gently nudge the loose flower petals into various arrangements on the round table. I had no grand design in my mind when I started this creation at 8:15 this morning.
But now, fifteen minutes later, I look down at this arrangement and I see a clear pattern is forming.
How did this get here? I’m totally surprised by what I see on the table.
Earlier this morning at 7:45, I’d closed the hotel door behind me, dressed for the day with my name badge for the conference classes set to begin at 9am. I had in hand my small backpack with a snack and a water bottle, along with a few fears and insecurities about what I was about to do.
The schedule had listed the 8am early bird activity as “Flower Meditation.” It offered “a chance to breathe, to feel good in our bodies, and make gorgeous art together to start the day.”
I couldn’t resist the invitation. Yet I was still anxious about it. I had no idea of the location of the Ontario Room in this huge Hyatt Regency here in Chicago. I didn’t know if fifty other participants would show up or just me. I didn’t know what the instructor would expect from us, or even what “flower meditation” could possibly be.
I only knew that this three-day conference had been intense, as my life had been the past several months, and I could use this nourishing break in the schedule.
When you give consent to enter the unknown (and even when you don’t volunteer for it), you can’t predict what you’ll discover at your arrival. Maybe something good, maybe something difficult. It’s the chance you take.
Playing with Flowers
Our instructor Kia, a small, calm woman (I later find out she’s also an environmental scientist and a yoga instructor), walks around each table in this small room to view our flower arrangements.
Kia had earlier demonstrated to us how to make a flower mandala. She stripped the flower petals off a bouquet and played with the pieces, creating a beautiful design of color and texture.
Now with my own stems of flowers in hands, I’d begun by slightly imitating her design. But as I continued to pull apart the flowers, I let go of any preconceived notions and just played.
I think that was the point.
Kia says she recycles old flowers for this meditative practice. She picks up dying bouquets from events or flower shops, and hands them out in her workshops.
I never thought of doing such a thing.
It pains me to tear apart a flower. Sitting with the mess, with the dying, I am uncomfortable. I glance around at the three other participants doing the same thing.
But we each eventually find our rhythm. Our faces are lighting up. Our flower mandalas are forming beneath our fingertips.
No Understanding Required
I decide I need an opening in my flower mandala. I don’t want it to be a closed circle. It needs an outlet. I spread out the top pieces.
That’s when I see it, this shape I’ve created. The center is no longer a circle at all.
In the middle, I’d unconsciously created a teardrop with the pink rose petals.
I hadn’t known I was mirroring my inner self.
Beyond the teardrop, I keep the circle open at the top, implying room for future movement, not stagnant closure. That it won’t always be this way. That I won’t always be this way.
While I can’t remove the deep wound I carry from a horrific loss I’ve experienced, I can still move forward in productive and meaningful ways. I remain alive to rearrange the pieces.
- I can still show up in interesting spaces.
- I can still attend to my breath, in and out.
- I can still listen to and grow with the people beside me.
I don’t have to understand or predict how Love works. I just trust it to be so.
Everything changed before. Everything will change again. This is life.
One Moment to the Next
Kia looks at the clock. It’s almost 9 a.m. She tells us it is time to leave. She has another idea, a spontaneous activity, for us to try next, outside of this small, plain corner room in this large, gorgeous hotel. (That activity is another story—read about it here: If It’s Only Temporary, Is It Worth It?)
But what about our flower creations? She says we will leave them behind. Walk away.
We look back for one more glance, snapping quick phone photos of our flower mandalas and of each other (how did we become fast friends in less than an hour?), then we do as Kia asks.
We walk away.
Our beautiful artwork remains on the tables, alone, yet ready to surprise anyone who happens to walk by today.
And by evening? Someone will eventually come in and clear the tables. All the dead flower petals will be swept into a trash can, ready to be transformed again into still something else.
Life is impermanent. Yet we humans continue to accept temporary invitations to piece together beauty from ashes, joy from sorrow, life from death—yes, even from dead flowers.
It’s both a mystery and a miracle, this unexplainable urge to create that rises up inside us, knowing that our creations won’t last forever. We birth life anyway.
Leaving the meeting room, I walk forward with my new friends into the spacious hallway of the hotel to head towards the conference center together. Our purpose in this moment is complete. We let it go.
We now move forward to the next.
This post is my monthly update on my One Word 2023, Human. I continue to discover more and more beauty and awe in our delicate yet resilient humanness. You, too?
Share your thoughts in the comments.
Read more on Human:
- Part 2 of Flower Mandalas: If It’s Temporary, Is It Worth It?
- Are You Offended? Next Time I’ll Keep Mine in Check
- When You Can’t Offer a Guarantee, Cry About It
- Feeling Smart? Not Exactly
We do manage, through our creative urges, to make sense out of the senseless, don’t we? I so loved your reflection here, Lisa! You’ve inspired me not to pass up the chance to try something new.
Blessings!
I’m inspired y the idea that you were willing to say yes to an unknown activity. I learned quite a bit by reading your post. Thank you for sharing.
What an amazing thing! Thank you for sharing!
Beautiful! Getting out of our comfort zones does inspire our creativity. But what I love more is your illustration of the process of creating something that may not be material long-lasting, but provides long-lasting healing.
Wow. What a creative idea. I really appreciate your reminder that our creations may not last forever, but we should keep on—just like the flower that fades.
Wow, Lisa! This brings tears to my eyes. The lesson in your mandala touches me deeply. Love and blessings of beauty from ashes and joy from sorrow in your journey here on earth!
Sounds like a lovely experience. It’s amazing how new & unfamiliar creative activities like this can tap into our unconscious minds so readily. Thanks for writing about this.
Your WOTY, human, has been such a stretching word, Lisa, but it has been wonderful to behold you embracing your humanity – stretching and growing – and giving grace to others in their humanity – even when it hurts.
Lisa, your flower mandala is so pretty. I love what you’ve learned and you’ve given me a takeaway here.
visiting today from IE
What a cool experience. Reminds me of soul collage in some ways and so glad you took the time to take a photo of this. Entering the Unknown – scary but I think we live there more often than we realize or even choose.
oh wow. ‘we let it go.’ this is too profound, Lisa, especially for those of us that long to hold on to something we were or someone we loved or anything we’ve enjoyed.
i leave here with my heart touched. again.
Your creation looks like a lovely piece of jewelry to me! And like others, the image of leaving it behind resonates. I’m learning alongside you this year.
Lisa, this is one of your most moving, poignant, and poetic pieces yet. Your work inspires mine! So I took the liberty of excavating a hidden-treasure poem from this blogpost, and dedicate it to you with love. (And I hope it lineates correctly once I post it; I’ll send you a PDF of it later).
xo
Lynni
Entering the Unknown
by Lynn D. Morrissey
—to Lisa, with empathy and love
hidden-treasure poem, excavated from Lisa Burgess’s “Dead Flowers Can Be Rearranged Too” (10.17.23)
Enter the unknown …
nudge loose the grand design in my mind
and see a clear pattern.
How did I get here?
Earlier, behind me, a few fears and insecurities …
I was about to meditate (a chance to breathe in my body),
but resist the invitation—anxious.
I didn’t know what life would expect from me.
I only knew this intense life could use
nourishing consent to enter the
unknown,
to discover my arrival—something good, something difficult—
a small, calm view,
a clear pattern forming.
Stripping the pieces creates a beautiful design.
I continue to pull apart:
I let go of any preconceived notions,
recycle the old for this meditative practice,
pick up the dying,
then let it go.
I never thought of doing such a thing.
It pains me to tear apart,
sit with the mess,
with the dying,
but I eventually find my rhythm forming beneath my fingertips.
I need an opening, an outlet to spread out, to see
this shape I’ve created.
The center is no longer.
In the middle, I create teardrops,
mirroring my inner self.
I’m open for future movement, not stagnant closure.
I know it won’t always be this way—
I won’t always be this way.
I can’t remove the deep wound; I carry horrific loss, but
I can still move forward in productive, meaningful ways,
alive to rearrange the pieces,
show up,
breathe in and out,
listen,
grow!
I don’t have to understand or predict how love works,
just trust it to be so.
Everything changed before.
Everything will change again.
This is life, one moment to the next, till it
is time to leave, to walk away.
But our beautiful work always remains, ready to surprise,
ready to be transformed again
into still something else.
Life is impermanent, yet we humans accept temporary invitations
to piece together beauty from ashes,
joy from sorrow,
life from death.
It’s both mystery and miracle—
this unexplainable urge to create that rises up inside us—
knowing that our creations won’t last forever.
We birth life anyway—spacious—
our purpose in this moment, complete.
So we let go and move forward …
I’m flabbergasted at how you put this together, Lynn! I literally have tears in my eyes as I read it, both by how you pieced something new together (doing the very thing the post is about!) and that you took the time to do it. What a gift, my friend! I don’t take this for granted. I know your energy is precious. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Nope. Ugh. Did NOT lineate properly, but as I had said, I’ll PDF it to you! 🙂
xo
L
Lisa, this post is just beautiful. It is amazing to me that we can step into the unknown, not sure of what it holds for us, and it can bring a letting go, a healing. May I remember the Lord knows and provides what is best for us and in our best interests. The unknown is already known to Him.
Lisa,
My heart grieved for you the moment I saw the image of your design. I’m sorry for your loss isn’t adequate. May our God, who is able, resurrect life from the dead.
With love,
Tammy
What beautiful thoughts. Thanks for sharing them. I hope you will continue to experience healing. Visiting from Sweet Tea & Friends linkup.
Lisa, your heartfelt lesson and message touched me so.
Thanks so very much for sharing this with Sweet Tea & Friends this month sweet friend.