Welcome to this water lily meditation,
Beginning by letting yourself settle into a seated posture that supports both alertness and ease.
Closing your eyes or casting a gentle gaze downward.
Letting the muscles around your eyes release.
And bringing a sense of kindness into your eyes.
Letting your face be relaxed,
Like taking off a heavy mask.
And your eyes are soft and kind.
Settling in.
Taking a few deeper,
Longer breaths.
Deep breath in through the nostrils and a long breath out through the mouth.
Letting the in-breath draw your attention inward.
And on the out breath,
Releasing any physical tension,
Thoughts that you might have carried here with you.
Letting it go for now.
I'm beginning to notice where your body meets the earth.
The contact of your sitting bones.
The pressure of your legs.
The places where you are held by the earth.
Sinking into that contact.
Letting your body be relaxed.
Now imagining beneath you the riverbed.
Dark rich mud at the bottom of a slow and ancient river.
This is where the water lily begins.
Not in the light,
Not at the water's surface,
But here in the dense darkness of the earth.
The mud is not a problem to be solved.
It is the source.
Every water lily rises from it.
Every beautiful blossom begins in the dark.
Perhaps there is mud in your own life.
Difficulty.
Grief.
The thick sediments of old pain.
The murky currents of thought that can pull you under.
The water lily does not fight or resist the mud.
It doesn't pretend the mud isn't there.
It simply roots into it and rises.
The water lily grows through the conditions it grows in.
And so do you.
Feeling your own roots reaching down through the floor,
Through the earth.
Into the riverbed of this moment.
Long,
Thick,
Patient roots going deep.
And anchoring you securely.
You are held by the earth.
You belong here.
Letting your tailbone be heavy.
Letting your sitting bones press gently downward.
Your lower body is rooted.
Heavy.
Still.
And offering a breathing verse to practice with for a few breath cycles.
Breathing out,
I am rooted.
Breathing in,
I am rising.
Rooted.
Rising And from that deep rooted place,
Feeling the spine lifting on the inhale.
And giving into gravity on the exhale.
Imagining growing a little higher with every inhale.
Like the stem of a water lily growing up through the water toward the sunlight.
Letting the crown of your head float gently skyward like a balloon.
Floating,
The way a water lily blossom rests at the surface of the water.
Easy.
Open.
Feeling the length of the stem.
The strong,
Supportive stem.
And the lightness of the crown.
Now bringing your awareness to your hands.
Letting them rest on your thighs,
Palms gently turned upward.
Soften your hands and fingers.
Your hands are the outer petals of the water lily.
Floating open on the surface of the water.
Soft and receptive.
Not grasping anything.
Letting thoughts just flow on their way along the river.
Breathing in,
I open to the light.
Breathing out,
I soften my hands and body.
Feeling the softening.
And the opening.
Noticing what it feels like to hold your hands in this way.
To grasp nothing.
To resist nothing.
To simply offer the open bowl of your poems to the sky.
Resting in this openness and receptivity.
The water lily is not always open.
Each afternoon of its blooming life,
It closes,
Drawing its petals inward.
Sinking below the surface of the water to rest in the dark.
Each morning,
It rises again and blooms.
Rest is part of the cycle.
Closing is part of blooming.
The water lily does not bloom somewhere better or more convenient.
Or after it has solved all its problems.
It blooms exactly where it is planted.
Rooted in this particular spot of this particular body of water in the conditions that are actually available to it.
Not the conditions it wishes for,
The ones it has.
In your mind's eye,
Letting an image of a water lily arise.
Allowing it to develop naturally without forcing or trying to direct it to be any certain way.
And noticing the color of your flower.
Letting the color simply appear.
Whether it's white or pink,
Pale yellow,
Deep violet,
Whatever comes.
And where is it in its blooming?
Is it a bud,
Still tightly held,
Needing more time in the dark?
Or is it just beginning to open,
The first petal softly parting?
As it fully open,
Face turned toward the sun,
Or beginning to close at the end of a long summer day.
Ready for restorative rest.
There's no right answer.
No stage is better than another.
Noticing the details of your water lily Does your water lily need rest and inwardness right now,
Conserving its energy?
Or is it open,
Ready to give its fragrance and beauty to the world?
To participate in the dance of pollination.
Whatever you see or sense about your water lily is like a mirror showing you something about yourself.
What details are you drawn to?
What message does this water lily offer you?
Now,
Finding your breath.
Letting the body breathe in its own gentle rhythm.
You might see the water lily opening and closing with your natural breath cycle.
Now,
As you breathe in,
Receiving the sunlight.
The warmth of the sun's rays falling across your open palms,
Resting on the crown of your head.
Filling your chest as you breathe in.
The flower opens toward the sun.
And so do you.
But take a moment to inquire.
What does that light represent for you today?
What quality of light would be most nourishing to you right now?
Perhaps it is warmth,
The simple,
Steady warmth of being held and supported.
Perhaps it's clarity.
Light that illuminates without blinding,
Helping you to see the way forward.
Perhaps what you need is strength.
Or patience.
Kindness or compassion.
Or peace.
Or courage,
Or joy.
Maybe what would be most nourishing right now is to hear certain words.
What kind of light would serve you best right now?
Letting that quality be present in every breath you take in.
Not straining toward it or manufacturing it.
You're simply turning toward it the way the flower does.
Open,
Receptive,
Trusting that the light will come.
Breathing in,
I receive what nourishes me.
Breathing out,
I offer my fragrance to the world.
Breathing in,
Receiving what you need,
Being nourished.
And breathing out,
Imagining releasing a gentle fragrance emanating from you.
Breathing out into the world your beautiful qualities.
Kindness,
Care,
Tenderness,
Joy,
Your particular warmth,
Your way of being in the world.
Your essence.
You do not have to manufacture them.
They are already there,
Rising from within you,
The way fragrance rises from a flower.
Effortless,
Given freely,
Carried by the wind.
Breathing in,
Receiving what nourishes you.
Breathing out,
Sharing your essence.
Now coming back to the image of the water lily in full bloom,
Resting on the water.
The river moves,
But the flower remains in place,
Resting upon the movement.
Thoughts may arise,
Letting them pass like ripples across the surface.
You are not the current.
You're not the ripple.
You are the flower,
Rooted,
Floating.
Anchored in place.
Breathing in,
I rise from the mud.
Breathing out,
I bloom right here,
Exactly where I am.
Root,
And flower.
Dark and light.
Receiving and giving.
All of it belongs in the life of the water lily,
Which is a reflection of you.
Rooted in the dark.
Rising through the water,
Through the current of life and thoughts and emotions.
Rising and blooming right where you are planted.
Receiving the light.
Offering your fragrance.
Growing through what you go through.
Remaining here in stillness.
No effort required,
Just breathing.
Only this.
And slowly letting the image of the water lily soften.
Like a painting that's fading.
Bringing awareness to the space around you.
Becoming aware of the sounds nearby.
The temperature of the air.
The contact of your body in your seat.
Taking one more deeper breath.
And as you exhale slowly,
Letting yourself arrive fully back here.
Carrying within you the fruits of this practice.
And when you're ready,
Opening your eyes and bringing some small movement into the body.
Wiggling fingers and toes.
Stretching or moving,
However your body wants to.
Thank you for practicing with me.
May this practice benefit all beings.
