Having just finished the first draft of my upcoming book, The Flowers Are Speaking, I had to give myself permission to rest, to celebrate this abundance of words, the voices of the flowers, that have flowed through me. I am in awe of how it has come together, and so very grateful. Grateful for all of you especially, my readers, and the support you have given me. It means so very much to me—thank you!
Today, calendula is particularly speaking to me, helping me celebrate. In my oracle cards, calendula’s key phrase is basking in joy. Please enjoy this short selection from their chapter in the book.
Growing up, I always loved places full of color like fabric stores, yarn shops, and art stores. My grandmother’s roses and flower garden were always full of color. I made my mom buy so many houseplants, especially ones that might flower, that they filled all the windows in our house in stacked layers. I loved playing with paints as well. Knowing now that I am a very visual person, and hardly musical at all, this makes perfect sense. But as a kid, I just assumed everyone reveled in color the way I did.
I began wearing glasses when I was only five years old. I had been nearsighted for far longer, I am sure, because the family story is that the kindergarten teacher told my mom I needed glasses and she said she knew but was just waiting until I started regular school. I remember sitting right in front of the TV, and then being able to sit across the room after I got that first pair with their bright blue tortoise shell rims. The gift of being very nearsighted was that I could take off my glasses and edges and lines would be softer, and blurry, but colors would become stronger, more vibrant to me. When my three to five-year-old self could only see the world in soft fuzzy colors, did I learn to rely on my color sense more than most people? Did I see the world more like a bee searching for a flower?
One flower in my garden whose vibrant color always pulls my eyes to them is calendula. At the end of a sunny blue sky day, their bright orange flowers radiate the pure joy they have captured in the day’s sun, swaying alongside the slow, luminescent blinking of the June fireflies arising from the grass. In the fading light of dusk, the possibilities for ethereal conversations seem endless, as the shadows elongate into layers of overlapping lifetimes.
Calendula blossoms are often their most prolific at the summer solstice, those days when the kiss of the sun is the longest. Their faces have been turned up to the sunlight all day long, feasting. Eating the sun is what they live for, and they radiate the sun back to anyone who gazes at them, sharing the color of the sun itself. As they offer their color to me, in a material form I can gaze upon, hold in my hand, and feed my own body with, I feel myself delighting in feeding on the sunlight with them.
The calendula says to me, “There is no limit to the joy I bring for you as we bask in the sun. Carry me in your heart for kindling to reignite your joy on cloudy days.”
Sun worshipers for far longer than we have been humans, calendula have been calling their pollinators to them with their deep orange color for so long that only the sun truly knows how their story began. They learned to express their love back into the world with color, and to literally feed their color to others. Many other beings would learn to see the world in glorious color too, and dance with them in the wonder and awe of the beauty that color brings to the world.
How do the flowers know color so intimately—and know how to bring such a vast variety of colors into the world? If color is a glorious ecstatic celebration of the love story of our world, then flowers are the heralds, the ones shining from the meadows for all to see. They tell us that color is an expression of the desire for life, desire for another, desire for a lover, in ways we barely understand the intricacy of. In our world today, when we can manufacture synthetic color easily and color is all around us, we forget what a miracle color is in the natural world. Our ancestors worked incredibly hard, only a few hundred to a few thousand years ago, to have color in their fabrics, baskets, pottery, and homes. In those times before industrial and synthetic color, the colors of flowers were precious indeed.
The gift of color that flowers gave to our ancestors, and to us today, is so profound that we do not even think about it. We take color for granted. Imagine a day forty thousand years ago, long before the weaving of cloth had even begun, when a young girl had an idea.
After a morning of food gathering with her family in the hot sun of early summer, she was sweating, but she hardly noticed. The berries, grains, seeds, flowers, and tasty green leaves laying in front of her would make an abundant meal. They had even found some favorite roots. Coming across a large stand of calendula flowers basking in the sun was a special treat. Her mother had left to help another woman in labor, leaving her in charge of the day’s meal. Rather than start with the roots and grains, she thought it might be more fun to play with the flowers first.
The stones were already heating up in the fire pit, the wood under them already turned to glowing coals. The water had been brought from the river, and she poured it into the boil pit. They were going to be staying in this place for at least a few weeks, so a well-dug boil pit had been made, and they had lined it carefully with the cleaned skin of a gazelle to make it hold water. Using the wooden tongs her mother had made by partially splitting a strong forked stick, she picked up one of the fist sized stones and put it in the water of boil pit. She added several more hot stones until the water was roiling.
She had picked more of the calendula flowers than she normally would because there were so many more of them than usual and she just couldn’t help herself. Their color! Their faces captured the heat and energy of the sun and just glowed, calling to her and capturing her heart. She loved knotting them together in garlands and wrapping them around her, as if she could transfer the color to herself, and absorb their brightness into her body. She wished she could have them with her all the time. Normally they would dry the extra flowers to save for making tea and healing wounds; but she had an idea, and since there were so many of them, she decided it would be okay to experiment with some of them.
Putting most all the golden orange calendula flowers in the boil pit first, she was delighted—no, overjoyed—to see how the water turned the deep yellow-orange color of the flowers. She had never put more than a few flowers into the boil pit before, so the depth of this color was quite new. What if she put some of the grasses that they used to weave baskets into the water? Would it turn the pale grasses a bright color? Would they stay colorful when they dried? What if she could make a basket the color of these precious flowers she loved so much?
It wasn’t the first time a flower, plant or root had colored the water when added to the boil pot of course, but she had never seen the color this rich, and had never seen anyone try and use it to color baskets or rope. Her heart was beating so strongly, she thought it might burst. It was as if her whole being knew this was something tremendously full of potential and she was so excited. Fortunately, they had gathered and dried quite a lot of grasses for weaving just a few days ago, so they should be dry enough to absorb the color. Taking a deep breath, she curled the grasses and lowered them into the boiling golden water, pushing them under with a stick. Now she added more hot stones, somehow knowing the hotter the water the better. It was as if the flowers themselves were whispering in her ear and guiding her. They said, “Take our color, and use it—to make your baskets reflect our brightness and joy back to you all year long!”
When she pulled the grasses out of the steaming water a bit later, they were no longer pale, they were indeed a bright golden color! She was already envisioning how much beauty this would add to her baskets, and the thought of carrying a deep golden basket with her all winter long made her so excited she could hardly breathe! Wait until she showed her mother!
Just then her older brothers came in from their hunting, having already caught two rabbits for their meal, and before she could share her excitement, her oldest brother said, “What? Are we eating yellow straw for dinner? What is this? Can’t trust you to make a decent meal! You better get busy; Mother will be furious.” But she looked at her other brother and said, “I know you can appreciate what I have done here, since you dig the ochre and do paintings on the cave walls in the winter. The colors speak to you as well. These flowers! Their color sings to me and has invited me to use them in a new way. Just wait to see what I am going to do with them!”
She knew in her heart she was on to something magical, a way to bring the sunshine into their caves in the cold, cloudy winter. And no harm was done. She got busy, put the roots and grains into the yellow water of the boil pit, added more hot stones, stoked the fire, and started preparing the rabbits. There was plenty of time to plan her baskets. She couldn’t wait to see how bright yellow the grasses would be when they were dry.
Long before color became a status symbol and was used to delineate class and gender; before color was industrialized and turned into a commodity; before color became something coveted from another person—color was just a gift. One of the purest, simplest, most beautiful gifts the flowers ever gave us. Color for color’s sake. Color for beauty’s sake. That is what we do with someone we love—we give them gifts.
Color is one of the flowers’ deepest expressions of their love and desire for us—one born of the longing for life. Our physical senses of touch, sight, smell, taste, and hearing all give form to, and allow us to experience, all that we love. We are in a body experiencing the world through our senses, as only a body can. Love as color, love as beauty, love as fragrance, love as song and voice, love as touch, love as taste—these are the experiences our souls desire so very deeply and are willing to return again and again to have.
What a joyful read as we begin to enjoy blossoms of spring! I’m so grateful I bought your deck and discovered your writing🍀🎁✨💫you put intentionality into my day today. I am so grateful for you🙏🏽😄☮️
Oh Mary, this is just lovely. I felt your words and your connection to our calendula kin deep in my heart. My best to you as you move to the next phase with your book. Believe me, I know how it feels to finish that first draft! Good for you! Blessings, Deb