Just BE'ing℠ Peace, Lily!

Beneath life's accumulated layers lies a quiet wisdom, patiently waiting to be revealed — not through doing, but through Just BE'ing℠

For years she sat quietly in the appointed corner of my home. My peace lily.

A simple, humble plant whose graceful white flowers brightened my mood and livened the room without ever asking to be noticed. She wasn't extravagant or demanding. She simply existed with a quiet elegance that was often overlooked until she bloomed.

I took care to water and feed her regularly, giving her what I believed was just the right amount of sunlight. But in spite of my best intentions something didn’t feel right.

Her leaves would begin to brown at the edges. The tips would burn, curl, and eventually wither away. I pruned them faithfully, convinced that fresh growth would surely follow. I watered. I stopped watering. I over and under fertilized. I kept her partially in the sun, and completely away from it. I tried everything I could think of. I even brought home another healthy peace lily and nestled it into the same pot, hoping new life might somehow restore the old.

It didn’t. The edges of the leaves continued to brown.

What puzzled me most wasn’t the browned leaves. It was her blossoms.

Despite those imperfect leaves, she continued to produce beautiful white flowers, each one blossoming with quiet confidence as if nothing at all was wrong. They brought me so much joy and yet left me wondering how a plant that appeared so weathered could continue to flourish.

So I kept pruning. Watering. Feeding. Hoping.

Waiting for those lush green leaves to return. But they never did.

Then, not long ago, I learned something that completely changed my perception of this simple plant.

Did you know that peace lilies don't particularly like tap water? Over time, the minerals, salts, and chemicals found in ordinary tap water gradually accumulate in the soil, making it harder for the roots to absorb what they truly need.

The solution wasn't another fertilizer, more or less water, or even another plant. It was remarkably simple. Flush the pot thoroughly with fresh rainwater—or distilled water—to gently wash away years of accumulated impurities and give the roots a chance to breathe again!

I couldn't stop thinking about it,

Suddenly it wasn't just about my peace lily anymore. It felt like a metaphor for our own lives.

We all begin much like this humble plant.

Simple. Whole. Curious.

We arrive in this world with an innate sense of wonder, naturally drawn toward life. Our needs are uncomplicated — to be nourished, sheltered, loved, and held. Our smiles come easily, our tears are honest, and we instinctively know how to rest when we are tired and cry when we are hungry. We don't question our self-worth. We don't compare ourselves to anyone else.

Like a young peace lily reaching effortlessly toward the light, we know how to simply be.

Then life begins to live us.

Along the way we begin living up to expectations—our own and those of others. We carry disappointments that were never ours to hold, develop habits that once protected us, and weave stories about who we believe ourselves to be. Sometimes we make choices that don't serve us. Other times we simply strengthen the mind's natural tendency to notice what is lacking rather than what is already whole.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, those experiences accumulate, layer upon layer.

Not unlike years of watering my peace lily with tap water. Layer upon layer settles upon us until the clarity of our true nature becomes harder to see. We begin living from habit instead of awareness, from fear rather than trust, from striving instead of being. We become so accustomed to the constant doing that we forget there is another way to live.

And yet just like Lily, we continue to produce blossoms. Even with browned edges. Even carrying scars. Even while feeling depleted.

There is something deeply comforting about that.

Perhaps our true nature has never been lost. Maybe it had simply become covered.

That humble plant taught me something I hadn't expected.

Peace is not another goal to achieve. Neither is it a destination to reach. Perhaps it is gently washing away what was never meant to stay, revealing what has quietly lived within us all along.

And that left me wondering…

What if I let fresh rainwater run through me - not to erase my past, but to soften what had quietly accumulated over the years?

Perhaps I can gradually rinse away years of striving, self-judgment, perfectionism, and the relentless need to keep doing.

What if I take just one soft, luxurious breath. Then another. And then another…

Perhaps I can begin listening to my body instead of constantly asking it to do more.

Perhaps I can begin to trust that beneath all the noise, beneath all the expectations, there is still a quiet wisdom patiently waiting for me to return.

After all isn’t that what inner peace is? A simple acceptance that we are whole, even in our imperfections. That we are not self-improvement projects. We do not need to constantly chase one achievement after another.

Perhaps Lily knew all along that blooming was never about having perfect leaves.

Perhaps she is asking us to remember who we were before life convinced us we had to become something or someone else.

Perhaps Lily is reminding us to return to our body, our breath. To ourselves. And discover that what we have been seeking has always laid dormant underneath all of life’s accumulated layers.

Today, when I look at her, I no longer see a plant with imperfect leaves. I see a quiet teacher. One that never stopped blooming simply because its leaves weren't perfect. One that continued reaching toward the light without questioning whether it was enough.

Can we learn to do the same?

Perhaps our browned edges are not signs that we have failed. What if they are simply reminders that it is time to nourish ourselves differently? To let something cleaner, gentler flow through us.

Perhaps all we need is to let life's accumulated residue soften — one breath, one moment, one gentle release at a time — until our true nature quietly begins to emerge again.

Perhaps nothing within us was ever broken. What if it was simply covered? Perhaps this is the art of Just BE’ing℠— simply returning to who we have always been.

Just BE’ing℠…

Just BE'ing℠ peace…

Just BE’ing℠ Peace, Lily!

I bow to you in quiet gratitude!