falling in love with life: the roses of alhambra

Remember when Beijing was here and we had lunch with his friend-- the man who dwells upon the clouds? Well, that day as we were waiting to be be seated at the restaurant,  Beijing's friend spoke of his delight at seeing the roses in the famous gardens of Alhambra.

I don't know why, but I cannot stop thinking about the roses-- and of the man really looking at them. Like my Borges, I imagine him gazing dreamily at the roses in the dry heat, he is almost intoxicated by their perfume. Borges too spends a lot of time in Persian rose gardens because he believes that somewhere among the flowers, he will find the name of God in the pattern of the petals. And like the great Augustine of Hippo, he also looks within-- to find god as well-- by painting roses (night after night) in his mind.

There is a book called Gardens: an Essay on the Human Condition, by Stanford Professor Robert Harrison. I've been interested in reading this book for some time. About the author, normally I would say I think he is a truly Great Thinker, but given our recent lively conversations about Confucian virtue as sexy charisma-- I will tell you this: I was thinking of him the whole time. Like Beijing, Harrison, I think, is interesting in his work as a life lived.

Gardens as paradise-- it is an idea as old as the mountains. He says most of us would not trade our lives for paradise-- as we are more attached to daily living then we realize. Do you think that's true? A great friend of this blog, Epicurus said once that he thought I was unusual for spending so much time imagining paradise. He said most people find it easier to imagine hell. I wonder if that is really true? (MW sends this Peter Greenaway video interpretation of Dante's Inferno)

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When I was younger, I thought Anais Nin was a bit of a nut. I guess it takes one to know one because lately I have found that her words really ring true for me (not unlike the clear and virtuous sound of jade pendants-- 玲玲--as the Lady of Ren walks down the vast halls of the academy). Did you all happen to notice the quote I put up the other day in one of my comments? Here it is again:

While analyzing so many people I realized the constant need of a mother, or a father, or a god (the same thing) is really immaturity. It is a childish need, a human need, but so universal that I can see how it gave birth to all religions. Will we ever be able to look for this strength in ourselves? Some men have. They have also gone mad with loneliness. Woman will be the last one on earth to learn independence, to find strength in herself. My patients turn away from those they love or are loved by when this need is unfulfilled. They demand of love also the fulfillment of a need, a need for growth, and it is in terms of this need that they often sacrifice the love; or are guilty of injustice. I was guilty of the same injustice when I looked for a stength in any man whom I called 'the father.'
Analysis gives vision into the potential self. At times it also gives false hopes, because the potential self cannot always develop. We have loyalties to the past, commitments, promises made, human responsibilities. Science may heal, but it is the poetic illumination of life which makes my patients fall in love with life, which makes them recover their appetite for it. One day I saw so may tears fall that when I found a puddle of water near my door I first thought it was all the weeping, and then I saw the umbrella that had been forgotten weeping on the rug."

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This morning, begging to stay home from school again, Adonis says to me: School is for Chumps. And so I tell my friend Eric: I think marriage is for chumps. To which he says: Well, you can't keep sailing away with Huizong forever either.

I don't know about that.

Sailing toward Athens across stormy Adriatic waters-- all I can ever think of is the limbless bronzes, sunk down at the bottom looking up at us. Laughing at our temerity. Yes, I pity Palinurus-- I pity his promise, I pity his occupation, I pity his fate.

And, I loath the feckless waves. But maybe like Nin says:

We have loyalties to the past, commitments, promises made, human responsibilities. Science may heal, but it is the poetic illumination of life which makes my patients fall in love with life, which makes them recover their appetite for it

To fall in love with life-- for me (for most people?), perhaps that is the only hope. And so I write to Prince Pirooz and ask him, do you think I should plant peonies or roses in my garden?

And, waiting for his answer, I am thinking of the allure of the mountains, and of a man looking at roses in the gardens of Alhambra.

Part 2, in the tea for civilized people TDT series below (see part 1 here)

Comments

[Peony (in sanskrit)]

You all probably already noticed this but just in case, I thought I would point you to Victor Mair's latest Post on Wuwei: Do Nothing at language log.

The comments about the Indian notions of wuwei were interesting I thought....

And: Haruki Murakami: the Novelist in Wartime

[Eric]

I love your post. And I couldn't agree with you more. Loving life, like any relationship, requires work. We have our up and down times. But, as you've mentioned so many times, "one must cultivate his garden".

In my opinion, the beauty of the world is easily found. And just as easily missed depending on what paradigm we find ourselves in and which viewpoints we take on. Sometimes, I have to remember the things I've seen and done before just so I don't lose track of how the world is outside my daily sphere.

In the end, we find the beauty, we find the paths, we cultivate the gardens.

I know that you have a talent for seeing the beauty that others pass by on a daily basis. And I'm sure you'll make it your own.

But really, one can't just be floating around on a boat with a Chinese Emperor forever, now can one? Much like I was once told that one can't really live a life in Bali - and that I would have to leave. One has to actively participate in their world and life. How true that was....

[M.W.Nolden]

First of all, there is no need to choose between roses or peonies; one can plant both. I have, as I'm sure you might have guessed, a lot of thoughts on gardening & life but it's too late here to get started & I am still recuperating so there will be more later.

Old roses (before 1900) have the most wonderful & evocative names. One of my favorites is "Cuisse de Nymphe", which occasionally sports an offspring of a deeper pink that is known as "Cuisse de Nymphe émue". I've never grown it myself but here is what it looks like…

http://www.remarc.com/craig/?p=193

Have you read anything by Michael Pollan? I think you would enjoy him.

[Jeff]

Plant the peonies, don't tell poor Prince Pirooz and rest assured that the mountains will at least have a good view of the flowers. About that man looking at the roses...he was looking at the space where you were going to plant the peonies.

[Peony]

As long as the mountains can see being all that really matters! Guess what, I was just printing out this article you wrote The Tea Horse Road so that the Kid and I could look at the pictures cuddled up in our futon tonite. It will go as usual: me saying: "Mommy wants to run away with you into the mountains" Growing very serious he will look intently at the picture you took of that sliver of a path cut into the mountain in Yunnan and will tell me in no un-certain terms: "No, there is not enough air up there for a little boy."

[Van dor]

Little boys learn to breath differently and I think he will follow his mom anywhere. No? Mountains are the master 'waiters' and they teach patience like nothing else.