The morning glory is one of my favorite flowers. I plant them every year along the back fence of our vegetable garden, where they compete with any bindweed plants that escape my attention. I prefer the classic blue ones; I’ve tried different hybrids, and the hardy, more commonly seen pink/purple ones aren’t as large and vividly beautiful. The photo above is from a postcard I received from Green Hope Farm Flower Essences; it’s become a visual connection to these beautiful plants and their energy.
Among the abundant open blossoms are buds with spirals set to unfurl tomorrow, yesterday’s spent blooms like soft little fists folding in on themselves, and deep green heart-shaped leaves. Some stems emerge from the rich mass of blues and greens, extending gracefully skyward as they hunt for a support.
I see the morning glory plants doing this in my backyard garden as well; reaching out until at some point they connect with a support and resume their twining habit. Sometimes I’ll gently place the exploring end next to a fence post to see if the plant will take the hint. Sometimes they grab onto other plants, or each other, and then the outcome can lead to a chokehold. In those instances, I try to gently uncoil the grip of the tight spirals, then place the little rebel next to a more appropriate support, hoping it will accept my suggestion.
The clinging nature of vines is more than a cliché, it’s a successful survival technique. Here’s a summary from Wikipedia:
“A vine displays a growth form based on long stems. This has two purposes. A vine may use rock exposures, other plants, or other supports for growth rather than investing energy in a lot of supportive tissue, enabling the plant to reach sunlight with a minimum investment of energy. The vine growth form may also enable plants to colonize large areas quickly, even without climbing high. It is also an adaptation to life in areas where small patches of fertile soil are adjacent to exposed areas with more sunlight but little or no soil. A vine can root in the soil but have most of its leaves in the brighter, exposed area, getting the best of both environments.
“The evolution of a climbing habit has been implicated as a key innovation associated with the evolutionary success and diversification of a number of taxonomic groups of plants. It has evolved independently in several plant families, using many different climbing methods.”
The visceral, instinctive act of climbing and clinging is a quality of both the animal kingdom and the human emotional landscape. Think of holding a small kitten, and the way those little claws hang on. It takes patience and gentleness to detach the kitten, which clings to feel—and be—safe. And what about hanging on to an idea or habit? It’s the same. The harder one works to forcibly separate, the tighter the attachment clings in order to preserve the status quo.
The visual image of inquisitive, errant morning glory vines has been a surprisingly effective method for me to ease away from my mental and emotional clinging. For example, in the act of planning for an extended vacation, I rely on to-do lists—on paper and in my mind. When all is done, check-check, instead of throwing the list away, I hang on to it.
Driving to the airport becomes a tug of war with my OCD self. Did I…turn off the coffee pot, lock the door, you name it. To cope with this, I invented a game I call “disconnect the vine.” I conjure up the visual of a tender, pale green spiraling vine, twined gently but firmly around a support. I gently pick up the end and slowly uncoil the tendril, one loop at a time. Its circular growth habit means I must twist it against itself to unravel it, without damaging it. Eventually, it becomes detached from its support, and then I am free from the corresponding clingy thought.
There’s an alternative visual that works quite well also: knots in a necklace. In order to untangle them, pulling and tugging is what I want to do, but that is precisely the wrong strategy. What works better is placing the knot on a smooth surfsce and gently jiggling it until some space appears, then finding the way into that space and out of the tangle.
In these metaphors, as in real life, resistance is futile and patience is mandatory. The vine, like all successful survival strategies, serves a purpose. I can honor the purpose of clinging, respectfully ask for a different direction, and set down each thought, in gratitude for that thought’s will to live.
