If someone had told me that it would take eight months for a butterfly pea seed to flower, I would have rolled my eyes to the back of my head. “Seriously, I could have given birth to a baby in that time”, my ego mind would scoff.
Day 0 - 14
So I planted those seeds, brought all the way back from Bali, and waited. In just under two weeks, they started to sprout as I expected them to, and my ego mind again went, “See, easy peasy.”
Except that life doesn’t always go the way we thought it would, of course.
Day 15 - 238
In the days that followed, my little plants went on their own curious journey of exploration and growth, growing taller and stronger, getting support by entwining themselves with an older plant that had shared the same pot. I gave them #Reiki and showered them with loving talk. Days passed and even that older plant began to wilt under the weight of the new kids in town, much to the despair of my Mom. “My poor pomegranate! All because of your plants!”, she would lament. I would apologise sheepishly but a plant has to do what it has to do right?
At the same time while my little plants took their time to grow, newer plants potted by other members of the family grew at a rapid pace—my Mom’s supermarket-bought cherry tomato seeds yielded fruits within a few weeks, the crimson brightness of the tomatoes mirroring my envy and embarrassment for having barren plants in comparison. My sister’s Okra plant harvested too. While my imagined butterfly pea flowers remained nowhere in sight. It didn’t help that we had a small gardening space, and everyone was vying for new pot spaces to grow more ‘productive’ plants (‘productive’ being the operative here). My Mom was still complaining about her poor pomegranate and things came to a head when my helper would remind me daily that my plants were simply ‘not growing’.
That morning, I lost it. Or rather, my ego mind lost it.
One Moment In Time
In a moment of frustration and anger, I grabbed the garden shears and—sniped off one of my butterfly pea plants (there were three of them), spitefully thinking that will shut everyone up now! Even though I had muttered a ‘sorry’ before I snuffed out its life, I was immediately overwhelmed with guilt and shame as I started to tear uncontrollably. Yet as my tears rolled down that moment, I totally felt the sadness and helplessness of that plant… as well as… a strange sense of ‘forgiveness’ from it.
That feeling of being assured and forgiven by a plant that understood what had happened and accepted what is, without resentment…
After that episode, I detached myself somewhat from my plants, convinced that I was flawed as a gardener and even more so as a spiritual practitioner. After all, I had given up when the going gets tough. I had allowed others to cloud my own beliefs and perceptions. I had allowed myself to fall into a vicious cycle of comparison and expectations. I had killed another living being so mercilessly and spitefully! Truth be told, I couldn’t bear looking at the remaining plants without feeling the shame and guilt all over again and being detached certainly felt safer and easier.
Another few weeks went by and by now, I had gotten used to not checking out my plants every other moment. Not caring and just letting nature take its course worked for me. I was still traumatised by my moment of folly, of course.
Then It Happened
And then one day, my helper came running excitedly, “Your plants! Got one flower already!”
I scurried to where the plants were and true enough, there was a single, most beautiful bright blue butterfly pea flower nestled snugly in the midst of the messy vines.
Those suppressed feeling of shame and guilt exploded from within, replaced by waves of relief and unbridled joy and amazement at the wondrous miracle unfolding right before my eyes. How is that even possible? What have I done to deserve such beauty, after all that I’ve done? Eight months on, seriously?!? The tear dam broke again but this time round, it was gushing with love, forgiveness and warmth. I could hear the plants distinctly in my mind’s eyes :
"It’s alright. We are good. All is good."
Insights And Lessons
As I begin to process all that had happened, I suddenly saw with clarity the messages and lessons that my butterfly pea plants wanted me to know and learn.
Resilience
The butterfly pea plants continued to do their thing despite the trauma they were being subjected to, remaining adaptable, strong and steadfast. Can we break through soil like the butterfly pea seeds did, or do we just shrink from the pressure?
Surprise
Surprises come when we least expect them. Hence, no expectation is the best expectation.
Gratitude
Life always unfolds in miraculous ways even if we don’t see it at first. Be grateful for everything, even the ‘bad’ things for they could end up teaching us a lesson or two.
Never stop believing
Did the butterfly pea plants think they will be barren? Did they think they will never flower? Probably not. Only humans and our conditioned minds and expectations!
Don’t do things in spite
Just don’t! Take a deep breath and walk away. Come back when you feel calmer. Chances are you will see clearer and communicate better.
Trust in cosmic timing, when it’s ready it will bloom
No need to rush because everything will come together in its perfect timing. My butterfly pea flowered only after eight months – was it any less beautiful or wholesome?
Uniqueness in every being
Some flower in two months and some in eight. Everyone has a unique origin and story to tell. No one is better or worse, just uniquely oneself.
Don’t compare
We set ourselves up for pain the moment we try to compare ourselves with others. Did the butterfly pea plants look at the cherry tomatoes and wilt in shame? Nope. They just continue to be butterfly pea plants!
Forgiveness
Perhaps the most important lesson to learn here. To accept and forgive ourselves for the mistakes we made in life and move on. To be able to forgive another after a grievous deed has been done unto us. Can we learn to forgive people like how the shorn butterfly pea plant did? Can we learn to forgive ourselves and cut ourselves slack?
Shortly after the first flower bloomed, more butterfly pea flowers followed and as I look at the unruly tangle of vines in front of me now, I know that everything is imperfectly perfect in this moment.
My butterfly pea plants would be proud.
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