Flowers often have messages for me, even while I am taking their photo, or perhaps this is why I take their pictures—their messages evoke a lot of feeling and emotion in me.

This morning, I was thinking about how I am learning to deal with the hurt that comes from being open and trying to be authentic. It feels like an ancient Greek contest—how do you deal with the heart?

What are your choices in a world where it is woven into the fabric of life?

I have two choices now: when I am hurt or someone is trying to hurt me, I can get angry and try to retaliate, which is what I most often do.

Or I can find tools and ways to calm myself and find compassion and understanding. Sometimes, it is there, sometimes at night. The more I work, the more I see it.

One is to return to myself and talk to the little boy who lives in the depths of a wounded and young soul. Be nice to him (or her.)

I took a nap today and dreamt that Ed Gulley, my late friend, came out of the sky and sat beside me on my blue chair. He asked me about milk prices and shook his head. He thanked me and Maria and said, “You have a pretty great old girl there,” he said of Maria. Ed was a cow farmer and an artist and a great friend.

I laughed and said, “Ed, you talk about women like they are donkeys or cows.  Maria is not old.”

But, I thought he was right, as he often was. She is great.  He was not one for PC talk. He said what he wanted to say and damn anybody who didn’t like it. Ed and I could say anything to one another. And we did. That’s what a real friend is to me.

He laughed and said, ” How did we ever be such good friends?” I said that was a mystery with a happy ending, but I had no answer. He thanked me for keeping his art on the lawn, even as it was falling apart, and not selling it.

“Oh,”  I said, “I could never sell it. You loved making it but didn’t care how quickly it fell apart.”  I pointed to the four sculptures and windchimes that still stood, each falling apart. Ed didn’t have the patience for what he called “long art.” I wanted to tell Ed my ideas about anger, but he wasn’t interested.

I said that one good thing about his death was that I would no longer need to hear about milk prices. I meant it.

He slapped me on the arm and said, as he often did, “I love you, Jon, and I don’t often say that to men..”

And then, he was gone. I was glad to see him but felt sad; I wish I could have spent time sitting in those chairs and talking to him. He was the best bullshitter I ever met.

This dream gave me a peaceful mind, and when I have a calm mind, the anger and cruelty of others can do me no harm. I’m shrouded in a new kind of peace and experience.

As I mentioned once before, this method helps me to really see that the person hurting me or trying to hurt me is also suffering.

My anger turns to dust and blows away. Understanding the suffering of others, even the most awful others, is a kind of fire extinguisher for rage.  Ed worked hard to understand the suffering of others; he found anger bewildering.

If you doubt me, which I am sure many people do, you can try it yourself.

 

Wildflowers.

Wildflowers and cut flowers.

Lilac flowers and orchids and wildflowers.  l like to mix flowers.

Wildflowers.

So long, Ed, come back anytime.