It's one of my favorite times of the year when the Iowa weather warms to the point where we can venture outside without a coat.
A welcome invitation to interact with more sun and fresh air!
Today, while I was spending time out on my patio I noticed that a few crocus have begun to emerge in the garden! Immediately, I reached for my phone to search for the symbolism that these beauties hold, and what mysteries can be unveiled about their representation in our culture.
crocus (n.)
"flowering plant best known for producing the spice and dyestuff saffron," late 14c., from Latin crocus, from Greek krokos "crocus," also "saffron," a word probably of Semitic origin (compare Arabic kurkum), ultimately from Sanskrit kunkumam, unless the Sanskrit word is from the Semitic one. The autumnal crocus (Crocus sativa) was a common source of yellow dye in Roman times, and was perhaps grown in England, where the word existed as Old English croh, but this form of the word was forgotten by the time the plant was re-introduced in Western Europe by the Crusaders.
also from late 14c.
Spiritual symbolism of the crocus: Crocus is the essence for new beginnings, fresh starts, new joy after the trials of Winter have left us. It offers you new energy and helps you to emerge playfully from the introspection of the dark cold months of Winter.
The word crocus also has some relation to curcumin, which is the compound found in the roots of the turmeric plant, I found it intriguing as it was just a few weeks ago that I discovered the magic of fire cider, which is created by fermenting heat producing vegetables such as ginger and onion as well as turmeric, and proceeded to make multiple batches to store in our pantry.
Life has been a series of magical synchronicities lately. Some experiences are subtle, and some are so profound that a rush of joy floods through my body, and I know that I am on the right path. I wish I had known earlier in life that this was something to be experienced, and that life didn't have to be a circus of self-doubt, internal judgment, and fear as to whether I was making the "right" decisions while trying to do so blindly. I suppose it's something to be discovered through the unraveling of time and experience and not something that can be taught anyhow. I am glad I have found the magic now.
The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go-
The Crocus-till she rises
The Vassal of the snow-
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Till bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.
Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the sea-
Pinions-the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once-as we-
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny-legacy-
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.
My figures fail to tell me
How far the Village lies-
Whose peasants are the Angels-
Whose Cantons dot the skies-
My Classics veil their faces-
My faith that Dark adores-
Which from its solemn abbeys
Such resurrection pours.
-Emily Dickinson
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