The Art of Resilience

Sitting on my new porch on a sunny day, after months of Buffalo slate grey darkness blanketing the sky, I feel the sunlight on my face as a healing balm to my soul. As the light awakens I notice the first shoots of green pushing through the cold, hard soil. I watch these stalks and observe how they respond to the comings and goings of rain, 30 degree days, then 70 degrees, then snow, then more light. The next week they may get pelted with sleet. Still they grow. The flower buds appear after a week or so and I am always in awe of these seemingly delicate flowers’ resilience to the pressures and elements around them. How do they do it? I wonder. How do they remain intact, in their own unique integrity, while being pelted by the elemental forces over and over again?  I watch more closely in the coming days. What I notice is this capacity to adapt, a capacity to consider the circumstances and remain flexible in response. I notice that it’s all in the timing, and that these plant beings do not force, rather they keep their innate potential and growth intact while holding for the right moment to shoot out and to open to the light. 

My son asked me a few mornings ago, mom, what happened to the flowers? Why did they close? I looked down and sure enough, all of the petals had closed up. I noticed the cloud cover and the moisture in the air. They are closed because the sun is hiding behind the clouds and it feels like it’s going to rain. The plants are waiting for the right moment to open. With the petals closed they can withstand the rain. Later, I saw how they allowed themselves to bend with the strong winds so that they didn’t break. The wisdom within these plants is astounding. 

I have been thinking a lot about resilience, and what these daffodils and crocuses are teaching me about that. I am thinking about the past year, all of the winds and storms that have been present in our collective experience. The unknown of the pandemic, the fear and chaos of so many lives lost and a lack of resources to support them. Hurled toward the unknown face of our mortality. Protesting for the basic human rights of people of color and their ancestors, an old and very current wound in desperate need of care, attention and healing. I think about the harshness, the utter soul-crushing darkness of our political arena. So many things we have been faced with, hurled into a chaotic maelstrom that seems to have no beginning or end, or anything to hold onto to keep us steady and alive. I think about these flowers. Year after year they find a way to grow out of the dark, cold abyss of winter. Within them is a seed of their becoming, an already inherent map of who or what they are. Somehow they see beyond their harsh environment, the dark frigidity of the soil. They know the light is there, even if so dim, and they follow it. The imaginal, hopeful, creative surging of their lifeforce gives them the capacity to push through, to grow, to become. Yet, in this becoming, their flexibility is their resilience. They know when it’s time to lay low. They don’t give up, they adapt. In this adaptation is their ability to thrive. How can I do this? I wonder. How can I tap into my own inherent resilience in the midst of all of the chaos and unknowns of this world I live in? How can I thrive, even without knowing all of the answers? I look to the flowers, the trees, and their inherent wisdom. A seed of awakening, of growth despite the circumstances thrown at it. I think of the herbs I learned about from my esoteric taoist lineage teacher. The strongest herbs grow in places where it is hardest to grow. The strongest trees are the ones growing out the side of a cliff. What a concept. So these challenges don’t have to defeat me? I don’t have to fight or give up. I can be flexible and continue to grow in my own innate right timing. 

In taoist medicine and alchemy we talk about the wood element. It is spring, vibrant green, life giving energy, relating to the liver, gallbladder, eyes, tendons, and so much more… the spirit of the wood element is the hun, that messenger of the stars. He/she travels to the stars at night to gather up the grand vision of our tao and bring it back in the form of our dreaming, our creative ideas, our ability to grow and thrive. Resilience. This is our birthright. And in some sacred blending of acceptance and continued dedication to growth and striving, we find a dance with this resilience. It is an artform. So pick up the pencils, the watercolors, the playdoh, the stickers, the dance, the song, the movement, the creative life force of YOUR LIFE. It is yours, despite what is happening around you. 

Written by Karla Vandenbergh on March 31, 2021 in response to my colleague’s writing on becoming and the wood element. Thank you Kaitlyn Warren (@somaticalchemy); and to my long term mentor and friend, Lorie Dechar (@anewpossibility) for the continual fountain of inspiration.