The Wildflower Diaries: August Treasures

Meditative essays on life, spirituality and everything in-between
by Stephanie Maru

I felt the first chill of Fall in August in Indianapolis this year. It was like the spark of the first crackling of a fireplace underneath the cosmos. It awakened a dormant part of me and for the first time in a long time, I felt one with the seasons. One with Autumn coming. One with the soon to be falling leaves and overgrown sweaters I love to wear.   

Reiki awoke in me, all over again. New friends arrived in different ways from different places. Old friends arose from the woodwork. There was a challenge that brought on new insights. And then there was one day in that month in which I’d come to treasure more and more as these final summer days came to a pass.

I drove to Holiday Park with a purple yoga mat, a reiki book and a Buddhist meditation book about becoming one with your struggles and a revolutionary Tibetan meditation technique called ‘Tonglen,’ for awakening your compassion for yourself and others.  

The funny thing was with my luck, or karma, I’d found this seemingly perfect area in the park on the grass next to these cozy trees, dimpled with a playful blend of sunlight and shade. I set up my meditation station diligently sending my intentions into the universe.  

“I dedicate this meditation to freeing myself and others, so that all beings can be free of suffering,” I thought as I sat on my yoga mat, slowing down my thoughts.   

And just in that moment, as I’m sitting cross-legged becoming centered and balanced, do I get stung by a bee on the inside of my left thigh.

It was a jolt back into awareness and it hurt brilliantly, but I found it more entertaining as I calmly plucked some of the stinger from my skin. After that unexpected arrival, I continued with meditation, careful of not brushing up against the throbbing bite wound.  

Upon centering myself again I thought: “I am now focusing. Ok. Focus. Focus on my struggle. I am merging with my struggles. I am one, with my struggles,” in efforts of practicing a merging meditation in that Buddhist book I’d brought with me, Handbook for Hard Times: A monk’s guide to fearless living, by Gelong Thubten.  

This is when a series of stories arose in my head as I thought dramatically, this was it! The culmination of all my bittersweet Filipino American adoptee life experiences leading to this paramount moment where I heal myself entirely.  

Simultaneously, now prepared for this grand venture of my soul, a tribe of children had started congregating right next to me playing an imaginary war game, some identifying themselves as Nazis, using sticks as swords, screaming at the top of their lungs.  

I continued to try to focus.  

A girl blew a dog whistle.

I slowed my breathing down even more, focusing on the pounding of my heart. 

The girl blew the whistle again, and again.   

An idle thought floated by: “This is so messed up, this is seriously messed up,” but I still found my center, even while they swarmed around me, pulverizing and jumping on the very tree that shaded my space. But the funny thing was, and maybe the most profound part of this experience, was that it all became a part of the meditation practice that day, of returning to that calm center that can’t be shaken.   

The other half of my time at Holiday Park was dreamily peaceful after I’d gotten up and started exploring the trails. The sounds of the squeamish children suddenly gone, I was met with a vast silence, trees glittering in the brilliant light of the sun.  

As I hiked, I forgot the bee sting, I forgot the children, and I was alone in this remote world of light and shade, breezes, creeks, yellow flowers, green plants hugging pathways tenderly brushing against the bare, brown skin of my legs.  

I found a tree by the creek where I could sit on its roots. I slipped off my shoes and settled into the wild woman that I am when I’m not working at a library.   

After my hike, I picked up my favorite herbs for making tea at Good Earth, and then there was a moment where my kitchen was covered with mason jars, tiny bits and pieces of chamomile, lemon balm and rose petals scattered on my counter.  

This meditation day transitioned seamlessly into a Latin dancing lesson where I learned Cuban salsa dance steps, a new rhythm and count for me. Once the social dancing started, I unexpectedly performed my famous disappearing act and said my quick good-byes, so that I could enjoy an early night at home even if it was a Saturday night.   

As I drove home, I realized this could be a perfect time to try to call my best friend Neika again, as it’d been too long since we last talked.

Out of sheer luck, she was able to answer the phone, and we laughed and caught up with each other’s lives, sharing pure appreciation for knowing each other for so long.  

As I fell asleep that night, I felt so happy that my friend was in my life.   

It was quiet in my apartment as I drifted off in the solitude of my one, tiny tea light candle burning in a lantern near my bed. As I drifted off into slumber, I could hear the crickets outside. With my cat pressed against me, I fell asleep in a lullaby of time’s tides, lulled into the dark expanse of night above, merging into an ocean of dreams and starlight.