Be More Dandelion
I am in the lucky position of being able to spend more time in nature at the moment, and as a result I have begun to notice the natural world around me in new ways. Spring, of course, is the perfect season for this. Most recently, it is the dandelion that has caught my attention: a small, bright yellow flower with an extraordinary life story. Sometimes we learn from people; sometimes from other sources. Drawing parallels with the natural world helps me put life into perspective, reflect on my own actions and those of others, and consider where they come from and if they benefit others or not.
Last week, as I walked the dog through a long carpet of dandelions, I noticed just how prevalent these plants are at this time of year. But more than that, I noticed how differently they behave – rather like us humans. Many were growing in wide, open spaces where the wind had clearly scattered their seeds. These dandelions were short-stemmed, stumpy even, hugging the ground. Others grew in sociable, sheltered clumps. These had longer stems, their sunny heads bobbing in the breeze as if to say, “We’re over here too – try to stop us!” Gardeners have long tried to rid themselves of these plants, labelling them weeds and mowing them down tirelessly in pursuit of the perfect lawn.
Around the same time as making these observations, I came across a poem on Instagram by the poet Ullie Kaye, called Dandelion. In it she suggests that “perhaps these little things that we’ve named weeds are actually wildflowers dressed in absolute resilience.” I think there is a very strong case to be made for the resilience of this plant, and here’s why.
The dandelion is not native to the UK. It was brought here by European settlers a couple of thousand years ago for its medicinal and nutritional qualities. Did you know that every part of the dandelion can be eaten? Its roots can be used to make a coffee-like substitute (particularly popular during wartime), its flower heads can be made into wine or tea, its leaves eaten in salads, and its buds even pickled. The plant supports digestive health and has anti-inflammatory properties. Wow. Can I honestly say that every part of me is helpful to others? Probably not – but it’s certainly something to aspire to. I know I have some good qualities, but there are also aspects of myself that could be improved to better support others, as well as myself.
In yoga there is the concept of svādhyāya, which translates as “self-study”. It is the fourth niyama (personal observance), encouraging inward observation of our thoughts, habits, and ego in order to understand our true nature. This is one of the reasons yoga holds such appeal for me. I hold other spiritual beliefs, but I also feel deeply that I have a responsibility to work on improving myself, rather than relying on an external deity to do the work for me.
The dandelion grows in poor-quality soil, yet as it grows it actively improves the soil it inhabits – and it multiplies rapidly. A single flower head can produce up to 1,000 seeds each year, and these remarkable, parachute-like seeds can travel up to five miles before landing, rooting, and growing anew. Double wow. Can I, like the common dandelion, have such a positive impact on the world around me? And if so, how do I begin?
Through the yoga sessions I teach, I share my reflections each week with the YogaWell community. This is a growing group of individuals of different genders, ages, and life experiences who, like me, are seeking self-improvement. Often this begins on a physical level – that is usually the initial pull – but over time it frequently deepens into something much more profound. As people practise consistently, a desire arises to calm the mind, slow the relentless speed of life’s merry-go-round, and reflect on the precious nature of our finite lives. People begin to ask how they can make a positive impact on this fragile world we all share.
We can learn so much from nature, and this week the dandelion has been our teacher. If this small plant can grow with such tenacity, then so can we. Like the dandelion, we can root down, feeling strength and stability within ourselves. We can take slow, deep breaths and reach upwards towards the light, opening ourselves to new possibilities.
Dandelions are not weeds. They are the queens of plants: resilient, determined, and unwilling to give in. Today – and this week – I invite you to be more dandelion.
