I went to the optometrist today for the first time. I submitted myself to myriad tests that totaled nearly 1.5 hours and ended with my eyes artificially dilated and a drive home wearing those vinyl robocop eye shades that they give out free along with a lecture to dissidents who aren't afraid of sunshine. The doctor told me I am farsighted with 20/20 vision and the eye aches that I have been experiencing for the last few years are from the constant refocusing of my vision during up-close tasks. My eyes just don't like seeing up close and they are working twice as hard to keep focus, resulting in fatigue and muscle burnout. My new glasses should help my eyes to relax, she assures me.
After a few hours of impatiently waiting for my pupils to return to their natural aperture, I was elated to spend the rest of the evening outside. As soon as I stepped onto the stairs descending toward the garden, a fragrant breeze caressed my cheeks–the bittersweet scent of mature French marigolds. If you've ever cracked open a swollen, dried-out marigold seed pod, you know the pungent floral notes that stick under your fingernails like yesterday's garden soil–difficult to get out completely. I walked barefoot to the garden beds and noticed a zillion brown and dusty flowerheads floating like bobbing seal heads on waves of green leaves. I knelt to begin deadheading them. I pinched upwards of 40 heads and carried them to a spot in the grass, ready to begin the diligent process of harvesting seeds.
As I carefully split the receptacles open to reveal 30 or so seeds in each one, I found myself asking the marigold aloud, "My goodness, how are you so prolific?" This isn't my first time harvesting marigold seeds; in fact, they're my favorite seeds to save each year. Perhaps our longstanding relationship is the reason why Marigold whispered her response, "Because I am patient and I am focused."
The words, audible only in my heart, hit me like a truck, nearly knocking me over into the grass. I was instantly transported to my childhood. Visions of 8-year-old me getting myself up and ready to catch the school bus, my single mom still on her graveyard shift. She would come home and sleep while I was at school and, by dinnertime, she'd be back at the plant (a quite different plant–one of manmade chemistry instead of God-made chemistry) and I'd be cooking my own dinner and putting myself to bed.
I didn't get a slow unfolding. I was catapulted into adulthood out of necessity and survival. I had to learn to see far ahead into the needs that would be unmet, and then adapt and reprioritize quickly. I somehow missed the sacred slowness of maturing like a marigold–with measured ease. An effortlessness as slow as molasses creeping over the lip of a downturned jar and still landing with solid precision where it was always meant to land. Instead, my growth was forced.
Rushed.
I had skipped some critical parts of the process as if some pages in my life's book were skimmed past because they were stuck together. Pulling them apart meant either risking damage or patiently maneuvering the delicate pages from one another, and who has time for that when we're talking about survival?
I guess you could say that I was farsighted, having to look ahead into the future to see what result needed to be achieved. And I was unable to learn discipline and detail along the way because I was a child trying to find the fastest route to success–aka quick adaptation into surviving as adults do. Sounds a lot like "20/20 vision with farsightedness and constant fatigue from refocusing" to me. I often still find myself in the swirlings of this cycle, having and holding a vision and seeing the end result perfectly with clarity, and yet, feeling fatigued from all the finer details.
Marigold, on the other hand, holds her vision of her future in patient focus and exquisite detail. In her own way, she is also farsighted with 20/20 vision. But because she remains focused on each individual up-close task to its completion, she reaches proliferation with ease. Her maturation is a delicate and intentional unfurling resulting in abundance.
As I brushed the seeds of the last remaining pod into the jar, the sun swooned into the horizon. Two hours had passed and I had meticulously collected over a thousand seeds in silent patience.
"See?" Marigold whispered. "Farsightedness is the gift of vision and focus is the slow unfolding of that vision."
