Always Something New
Wildflowers are always new. Every season they vary in form, color, and proliferation. People ask why I go to the same place every year to see the same flowers blooming. I just say, “they are never the same.” I am so fortunate to have a life partner that shares this sentiment. We make annual pilgrimages to many of the same places year after year to revel in the botanical wildness of nature.
On a recent hike in the Cone Peak area of the central Oregon Cascades, we experienced the diverse and prolific summer wildflower display for which the Iron Mountain varied ecozones are known. We smiled to recognize many familiar flower friends and, by the time we were ready to begin our return trip, we had already identified nearly 70 species in bloom. The earth dakinis were offering many flower blessings.
Sometimes the blessings come in the form of species with which we are unfamiliar. On this trip our sense of wonder was piqued by a tall spire of odd-shaped yellow flowers stacked on top of an array of alternating lance-like leaves. The plant, rising three feet from the ground, smacked us with curiosity. I have to admit I get a little giddy when faced with something I do not know and have not labeled with a name. I think this is because my mind recognizes its innate capacity for awe without a filtering memory.
Of course, I was compelled to investigate the botanical story of this species. After all, I am a wildflower nerd. But the process of discovery makes me no less giddy in my wonder. It turns out this plant, once lumped within a genus called Luina (loo-EYE-na), is now the sole occupant of the genus Rainiera. Growing only in Washington and Oregon, it is considered at risk of disappearing altogether. I am honored to feel the flower’s presence as part of the incredible diversity and ungraspable vastness nature offers us.
Over the years this love affair with wildflowers has become part of my spiritual practice. It requires me to look with fresh eyes. Otherwise, I only see what I have seen—measuring the present moment by past experiences, past flowers in my mind. I aspire to drop these filters in all my daily activities but I am afraid I mostly fail to do so. Still, I persevere practicing to see things with fresh eyes—according to my capability.
Regardless of my capacity to see it, there is always something new. Padmasambhava, the root teacher of our spiritual lineage, said our original mind views everything “fresh and unconditioned by anything.” He must have also been a wildflower nerd. Maybe his name is a clue. It means, “lotus born.”