Taking Root (ether of the earth)




Summer in the PNW has taken root. 

Tonight on my evening walk with my dog around the neighborhood I was acutely aware of the contrast between these warm summer nights and all the long months of grey cool dampness. 

All the windows I passed were open and smells of food and the sounds of fans and televisions wafted out.
I had to watch where I stepped to avoid the splatter of fallen plumbs on the ground. 
The Queen Anne’s Lace was growing like large bushes out of the tiniest cracks in the sidewalk and I had to stop and admire their persistence and grit. 

How does one grow so well when there is barely any soil to be had? How does one thrive on practically nothing?

The hardiness and resilience of this flower reminded me of my own journey as of late. I have been spending a great deal of time contemplating the process of manifestation. How does one bring something from thought (out of the ether) into matter (earth)?

For many months I was inundated with visions and inspirations of things I wanted to create. I HAD to create. I worked hard to harness all the potential that seemed to be pouring into me from my highest channel. But I could not bring them to the earth. Completion. The problem?

Time. Space. I blamed my inability to focus or complete my projects or paintings or books or classes, on my lack of time and resources. 

Which is most likely true. 

But watching the Queen Anne’s Lace tonight, merrily reaching for the sun as though it would not take no for an answer, was inspiring to say the least. It seemed to be showing me how the lack of space or nutrients was neither here nor there. 

I wondered,  If it was bound and determined to dominate no matter the conditions, then why couldn’t I?  


But I recently took a break from the pushy, driving, fire energy that had been internally driving me for so long. I stepped back from all the doing and gathering and reaching and striving. I stepped back from my ambition and re-evaluated my roots. 

I had to keep returning to my studio in the woods to paint. I got still. I sat in the sunny spots between the branches in the forest around my studio and listened to the many different species of birds signing all around. My mother informed me that science has proven how the birds’ songs make the trees grow. They are symbiotic. I started to wonder what kind of bird songs make me grow. 
And how my own heart’s song might be of value in ways I couldn’t know. 

Rather than continuing to ask how I could bring the ether to earth (vision to manifestation), I started to wonder about the ether of the earth itself. I contemplated the ways that completion and stillness are related. Endings and beginnings, intertwined. I started to wonder how doing nothing might be the most productive thing I could possibly do. 

As I integrate this spacious quality into my life and make new relationship to my ambition, I look to the Queen Annes Lace and see it doing its thing without trying. I see its roots burrowing between the tiniest cracks, as though the cement is a lush garden. I think it may not need determination or grit. Perhaps it is optimistic. Or maybe it is simply adapting to what is available.
Or perhaps it even needs the confines, boundaries, and limitations in order to thrive. It chose to grow there, after all. 

Owning the tight spaces of life can be uncomfortable. But it can also be rewarding. I often resent the container that holds me, yet without it I would not have the need to do what I long to do. 

For me, this summer is all about this kind of thriving and I invite you to join me in learning from the Queen Anne’s Lace.
Learning how to be spacious regardless of the limitations. 
Learning how to be rooted under all conditions.  
Learning how to belong exactly where we find ourselves.
Learning how to bloom in the sun.

xoxo

Amanda Lux
Above image: Taking Root: Ether of the Earth
Acrylic on wood by Amanda Lux