Last week, my sunflowers started to bloom. I chose a variety called “Titan” because they can grow to be 14’ tall. The largest flower heads from this variety are a whopping 24” across. Full disclosure: mine aren’t that big, but they are still bigger than any other plant in my garden. Like all things in the garden, they are excellent teachers.
The happy flower archetype
Take a moment to imagine a sunflower. What do you see? Chances are, you envisioned a tall, proud flower turning its head to face the sun. A halo of yellow, red, or orange petals likely surrounded a brown center. This is the archetypal sunflower that makes us smile.
Now, take a moment to imagine a yoga practitioner. What images come to mind? Does the person look anything like you? What is their general mood?
The connection between my sunflowers and stereotypical yogis will make sense in a minute.
When reality defies the archetype
I was on one of my mindful walks around the garden when I noticed the heads of my sunflowers drooping. This was so at odds with the stereotypical sunflower image, but upon reflection, it wasn't that unusual. Throughout the season, there have been many times when these flowers looked tired. If it got too hot and dry, or if the wind blew too hard, or if the rain weighed down their gigantic leaves, these sunflowers leaned over.
Most of the time, I left them alone when this happened. If I got too worried, I went out and trussed them up with old pantyhose or something. (I definitely practice the yoga of using what I have.)
Looking at them now is different, though. They're on a journey from which no known quantity of old knee-highs can save them. They are in the middle of the biggest transformation of their lives. They have to slump over.
Soon after the big, yellow petals open, every potential seed in the seed head forms its own tiny flower. (You can't usually see this on the sunflowers at the florist because they are a special pollen-less variety grown for flower arrangements.) When the tiny flowers form, the bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds get to work on pollination. Each small blossom becomes a seed.
My sunflowers have to bow their heads under the weight of the work they're doing. This pranam marks the twilight of their lives in this season and the beginning of new life in the next.
Transformation isn’t always pretty
Seeing these proud giants in this humble posture reminded me of yoga. I came to yoga during a time of transformation, and I'm guessing that a lot of you probably found your way to the mat during your own transformative periods. Maybe you needed some tools to self-regulate and down-cycle your sympathetic nervous system. It could be that you needed an adjunct modality to help deal with physical pain, emotional pain, or everything that comes with recovery. Maybe you wanted your body back or for your mind to be still, or both at the same time with a lot of other stuff in between.
We’re sold an image of what yoga is that’s as pristine as that stereotypical sunflower. It’s all glowing skin and smiling faces. This is not what transformation looks like, though.
Bring on the changes
The real transformative change that can happen through a dedicated yoga practice looks a bunch of ways. Your journey may not (and probably ought not) look only like the highlight reel we all see.
Sometimes, you're going to look like that sunflower with its head hanging heavy. Sometimes you’ll show up to class, and you’ll feel like you're conducting every movement with weights attached to your limbs. There are days when I go to my mat, and even Yin Yoga feels like it's too quick for me.
Other times, you’ll be in Natarajasana, and you’ll feel your heart opening and the joy pouring out of your heart, bouncing around in the practice space, and smacking right back into you in this ecstatic unfolding. Or maybe you'll have a moment when you’re in meditation or savasana and your mind will finally be quiet for one second, and you'll realize the thing you've been missing for years is your own stillness. At those times, you leave your practice feeling a bit stronger and more motivated than you were before. You're the image of the sunflower at its best. You're in the yoga highlight reel for a moment.
Clearly, the latter sounds like a lot more fun, but we're human. All these states are necessary parts of our practice.
Roll with the changes and embrace impermanence
When big shifts in our lives happen, they're the hardest for us to grasp. These are the times when we'll look the least like the highlight reel and the most like that slouching sunflower.
I'm talking about the times when the habit we formed as a way to self-medicate becomes the thing doing us instead of the thing we were doing. The person we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives with isn’t “the one.” We learn that the institutions we aligned our lives with no longer align with our values. The moral and ethical implications of our jobs start to feel heavier than the risk of leaving that job in search of something that allows us to sleep at night.
That is weighty, existential stuff. It’s okay if you don’t look happy all the time while you're dealing with it. In mild cases, your friends and your yoga practice, much like a helpful gardener, can help to prop you up.
What about the times when no amount of propping is going to help, though? The only thing I can promise you is that it’s temporary. All of it (the good, the bad, the ugly, and indifferent) is a temporary state. We’re passing through, and my gosh that can sound depressing, but it can be really comforting too. I’ve learned this over and over as a military spouse. I have solidified this over and over in my life as a yogi. Just like each pose is a temporary position, so are these difficult moments.
Thich Nhat Hanh, one of my most beloved teachers often talks about impermanence in his dharma talks and writing. I found this quote from No Death, No Fear that seems fitting:
Thanks to impermanence, everything is possible. Life itself is possible. If a grain of corn is not impermanent, it can never be transformed into a stalk of corn. If the stalk were not impermanent, it could never provide us with the ear of corn we eat.
Growth from ashes
It’s worth noting that the phase from which the sunflower can never return, when the seeds begin to develop, is the most difficult, least flattering, and most rewarding. Out of the brokenness of that plant which rode out heat waves and storms arises the seeds of next year’s flowers.
Better still, each individual plant yields hundreds of seeds. Those seeds, which become the next generation, will also become the sunflowers that are beacons of joy and bearers of life's slings and arrows. They become the totality of the sunflower experience.
In the same way, one hard-won change can ripple out to impact your life and the lives of others in countless ways. That's why in yoga we always talk about how self-care isn't a selfish thing. Keep moving forward, my friends. Everything is in flux. Doing the work isn't always easy, but it's worth it.