Marry the Heart - My Rose Ceremony (the longer version)

If you think of the rose,
you will become the rose.
If you think of the nightingale,
you will become the nightingale. – Rumi
( found on my friend Kay’s facebook page)

This sweet little miracle caught my eye Saturday afternoon.

I had silently feared that the climbing rose we've so neglected had bloomed for the last time around Mother’s Day when three blossoms suddenly showed up on it’s barren, bug eaten leaves and limbs. I thought of my brother, sister and me, my mother’s three offspring. This happened last year too. Three little roses arrived on Mother’s Day, no more, no less. Then the bugs took over. It’s unusual for us to ignore nature but roses have not been our forte especially in light of the fact that we haven’t found anything organic for taking care of the rose-related bugs(or so I thought).

In the Fall of 2007 when my mother who’s never been significantly sick had sudden surgery, the climbing rose blossomed. One tiny bud unfolded on the August day of her surgery. That’s when I first sensed it was a messenger. The bud immediately reminded me of my father, my father who had died the year prior. He wanted roses for his funeral. We bought a beautiful pall filled with red ones. (It was petals from some of them that I left in various places while traveling in France last year.) I thought of my father that August day. That one rose was a sign my father was around. I took the rose to the hospital the next morning without sharing what it had meant. I didn’t share my heart easily then especially with family.

This climbing rose, my burning bush, always offers signs at significant times. Why did I think it was dying? I may let it down but it does not let me down. I had the hour prior submitted an entry to the “Host Your Own Show” contest on the new Oprah network. I learned of the contest earlier in the week. I seldom watch tv, but Monday as the clock neared five I wondered who was on Oprah. (This is risky to admit the week of the contest, but no offense, Oprah, the last time I watched a nearly full episode of your show, Louise Hay was on. I should have been inspired by this woman who in her 80’s shared how she didn’t have her first book published until fifty or later. Nearly fifty at the time, this should have given me heart, instead it freaked me out. Louise didn’t. The young women in the audience with whom Oprah occasionally spoke were talking about things of which I had just written. I felt so far behind these eloquent twenty and thirty- somethings. I turned off the show feeling like such a failure thinking I am possibly one of the few women alive who Oprah actually made feel bad instead of good.)

Last week I turned the tv on as a break neared and heard, “Have you ever wanted to host your own show?” That’s when I had the feeling. It wasn’t goosebumps and tears, the usual bold GPS signal my body provides alerting me to my path. It was more of a drop of sorts in my heart accompanied by a thought that went, “I should look into that.”

A day passed before I googled Oprah. I read where winners would be selected for competition in a reality show. I may not watch much tv but I did see a few episodes of The Bachelor when Nashville’s Travis (now Dr. Travis of the Drs. Show) was doing his televised dating thing and I watched one recent episode of “Top Chef” featuring a local chef who once was my student in a pre-school. I sure didn’t want to be on a reality show with all that competitive who-can-you-trust stuff and I couldn’t imagine being away from the cats and Jerry while living with people. It’s hard enough being me living with me on some days.

The next morning I randomly picked up an astrology cd from a recent reading to listen to during a road trip. I listened to this person talk of my needing to stretch while meeting new people and traveling.

By mid-day I was convinced I, one of the least technologically-oriented people on the planet, had to make a video using my little digital camera. By bedtime, I had decided ‘no.’ The next morning Jerry asked, “Yes or no?” I said, “Maybe.” A cup of coffee later, “I thought, ‘Yes’ but by that night thought, “No.”

Friday morning I awoke prompted to check my numbers as in numerology. The more I did this the more I saw myself coordinating interviews with people I know who have launched beautiful endeavors in their lives and the world to wake us up to good news in these times. I laughed at myself witnessing my mind creating themes, noting questions that I hoped would inspire viewers to think in deeper, broader terms in relation to their personal life. (I’m really laughing now wondering how I would remember those questions with menopause mind.)

This was the beginning of my recording a three minute segment repeatedly, at least ten times. I intentionally didn’t look at competitors’ videos for fear I’d back out. I also didn’t read the section regarding what to include in the video. I didn’t notice it until I prepared to download my finished product. Then I read: Include your age. I re-record. Then I read: Include your profession. I re-record. Then I read: Include your location. To be a writer, you’d think I read and I usually do, just not fine print on computer screens while looking through a lens of fear.

After lunch, I finally began the downloading process so I could edit my backside literally from the beginning of the video since I’m filming this all on my own. Oprah’s site says the downloading process can take time so I really didn’t think anything of the fact that it took me 7 hours to download my part just to the editing program. I thought they meant it when they said it takes time. I even went out to dinner only to return home to find I had downloaded their sample, a guy surfing, repeatedly onto the editing site.

Sometime around ten that night, I noticed the one button on my own editing system that I had been overlooking all afternoon. (Sometimes the heroic journey is made hard by our own shortsightedness.) I pressed this one button and voila. I proceeded to the application portion of the process.

This became entertaining in that I was asked questions like: What games do you like to play? Give an example of your competitiveness. I didn't think I played games until I realized I love playing any game a kid is playing, except pretend war during which I insist on the role of UN peacekeeper.

Somewhere midst questionnaire I typed on the fine print again, more fine print I had not read and found that Oprah’s people have the right to anything I say on my video for the rest of the time in the Universe. Yes, it read, “the Universe.” Most of what I shared was a compilation of what so many folks talk about these days from Wayne Dyer and Jean Houston to Depak Chopra and Dewayne Elgin.

Just as I was feeling centered I suddenly feared Oprah would steal a line from my video. Now most people would think if anyone’s going to steal a line, wouldn’t you want Oprah to be the one? What’s wrong with me for being concerned that Oprah would communicate an idea to the world that zipped through my mind once upon a time? Ah, my ego and I went to bed uncertain about this venture.

The next morning I didn’t feel any more certain. I called a friend after not hearing from her by email. After not reaching her, I called another friend who puts things ‘out there’ creatively regularly. She knew my fear and shared a story that had been told to her once. Short version was: A wealthy man had his priceless shoes stolen. When he learned of the theft, he said, “Oh, I’ve created a thief.” Suddenly I got it, if anyone (even Oprah) betrays me that’s not my karma. (Oprah, I’m not saying you’re a thief! I think you are amazing. It’s just an example relating my fear.)

Throughout this whole ordeal of which you’ve patiently read, I had been knowing all day what I needed to do. Whenever I get excited about something, I’ve this way of leaving my inner self, my heart. I sat down with a photo of Templeton, my Mews, who taught me about the heart as she died two years ago. I listened then. I finally listened Saturday.

I looked at Templeton and knew this wasn't about being on tv, this was about being me, opening my heart, my heart that closes and disconnects so easily. I pressed “Send.”

I walked outside and immediately saw the little red bud, a soul, sole bud on the really eaten up climbing rose.

It was the most beautiful moment. I saw the rose. I saw my soul, my heart covered in orbs of recent rain and smiled. I immediately got my camera and happened to find an unopened bottle of organic, oil based spray and yes sprayed first, photographed later then thanked and thanked and thanked, not because this is a sign that I’m going to win but because it’s a sign that it is time to open my heart like the rose once again.

Then I sweetly laughed. I may not watch the Bachelor or reality shows on tv, but I was being offered in an even better reality, a rose, my very own rose ceremony standing in my Nashville driveway. The rose, my heart, said, "Dawn, marry Me.”

I left a tiny feather on the ground at its base in gratitude for it affirming my heart’s taking flight, a sign of my "Yes, I do. I do."

Roses like the heart thrive despite negligence and minimal care. I’ve pondered this since hearing years ago when someone back from Slovakia told me of the flourishing roses in war torn villages. I thought of it again in Conques a small French town of such beauty where roses climb walls everywhere with so little room it appeared for their roots in the soil.

Just as miraculous is the fact that the Universal heart, neglected, hurt, betrayed, having suffered so over the centuries continues to open and reopen allowing love to bloom forth repeatedly. We may let down the heart, but it does not let us down. Maybe this is why there’s such betrayal in the world. Betrayal provides us choice. Will we stay open or re-open after pain or will we close and shut down?

Can we keep our hurting hearts open especially while they’re breaking? I believe this is why we are all here. If we as Rumi said: "Become the rose" then we will as Kay added: Become the New Story.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 28 June 2010
(Photo: the bud two days later:)

P.S. Now four days later, a spider has used one petal as a connecting point for its web. Grandmother Spider, Spider Woman, She who is called by many names needs us awake and aware, our hearts, minds and hands, to heal the web of life.