Roses Can Bloom Amidst Thorns, But Not In Darkness

Two things that everyone must know about me. First, I hate the cold. Second, I have a semi-chronic condition of being cold all the time.  I feel my situation is a cruelty handed to me by none other than the Fates. Now with most of life's cruelties we have two options. First, we can complain about our situation and hope that one day the Fates' hearts will soften from their stony enclave hidden inside their chest thereby removing this cruelty from our lives...Or, the second option is that we can work in spite of our cruelty, our thorn in the flesh, and bloom as a rose would, amidst the thorns.

I have recently learned a profound lesson from my seemingly small cruelty of being cold. It happened on a beautiful Saturday. I had gotten up and finished all of my schoolwork by mid-morning and was looking forward to spending the rest of the day doing my heart's desire. Unfortunately, my thorn was going to stand in the way of that. You see the temperature in my apartment was around 53 degrees...much to cold for a house plant like myself. My nose had started to form icicles on its end and my fingers and toes looked as if I had a family of Smurfs living on them. I sat complaining about the temperature while huddled under my blanket knowing that eventually I would be accused of smoking due to my frozen exhalations.  

All of a sudden an idea, no, an inspiration came to me that enabled me to pluck the thorn from my flesh for a time. I threw off my blanket, took off my shoes and socks, picked my blanket back up and marched out my front door to greet the 75 degree sunshine. I laid my blanket on the lawn plopped right on top of said blanket and started to bask in the light and warmth provided by the sun. It didn't take long for me to thaw and then fall into a blissful nap. I awoke to the sounds of birds singing merrily and cars passing me.  As I lay on my blanket I realized that for the first time in since I had moved back I was actually warm, even borderline hot. It felt so comforting to simply lay in the sunshine and be warm.

I looked back at my house and saw a lonely cold shell of brick and it seemed to me a shroud against light and warmth. How could I stay in a place like that, I thought to myself. A place so devoid of color, light, or warmth. More importantly, how had I not noticed it before? Had I been wrapped in its darkness so completely that I thought it was light? How could that happen (and I don't mean to sound pompous, but I probably do) especially to me? I have a very healthy opinion of myself and love to think that I rival Mary Poppins at being practically perfect in every way (I am completely joking, I know Mary Poppins is way out of my league). Anyway, this course of thought lead me to a much deeper concept.

How many of us are in the cold darkness of ignorance freezing and cursing, pleading for someone to pull us into the light and warmth of truth?

To quote the finale of a famous musical that is based on Victor Hugo's novel of unparalleled beauty, Les Mierables:

Do you hear the people sing,
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing toward the light 

For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies
Even the darkest night will end
And the sun will rise.

These lines evoke an image in my mind's eye of people dressed only in rags that are tattered and torn, their hair is matted against their head from their perspiration, they are on the ground clawing their way forward to the light, giving everything they have to this supreme effort to cast off the darkness. I look into their eyes, the windows of their soul, and see a resolution that is unbreakable; they seem to know that if they stay in the darkness any longer they will shrivel and die. We can see in nature this same determination, plants will grow in whatever way possible to get light. If they need to grow horizontally for a while they will. If they need to grow upside down to find light they will. Why? Because without light they will die. We are no different.

We can bloom in spite of our thorns. We can even bloom so well that our thorns become accents of beauty and character. The road of blooming is perhaps long with precipices that need crossing and mountains that need scaling, rivers that need fording and oceans that need sailing. Despite all of fates' thorns we can bloom beautifully. Thorns never were the obstacle. The obstacle lies in casting out darkness and moving toward light.

Our thorns have been given to us by fate; we cannot change them. Our only choice is to live in the light of truth or die in the darkness of ignorance. When will we desire light with the same ferocity as, "the wretched of the earth"? When will we crawl in rags as starving destitutes toward the light? When will we throw off our blanket and leave the shroud of darkness behind us and embrace the world of light and truth and warmth? I hope it is a question of "when" and not "if" and I hope the answer the answer is now.

Roses can bloom amidst thorns, but not in darkness.

 

The thorn photo is compliments of Erik Noeske.

Serendipity: Remember this day...

I was given a fortune from a fortune cookie three months ago this very day that said, "Remember this day three months from now. Good things are in store." Well that was 13 June, 2011 and now three months exactly have passed. I am not normally one to believe in fortune cookies, but this one has already proven itself, for it was given to me by someone very dear to me; I believe that Anne of Green Gables fame would say, "A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know a kindred spirit to whom [one] can confide [their] inmost soul." She got the fortune cookie three months exactly before I returned home from Atlanta, Georgia after serving a two-year LDS mission. She gave it to me exactly nine months and four days after she received it initially, which makes it one year and four days since she received it...if my calculations are correct.

Perhaps on this thirteenth day of September I will meet another kindred spirit. Or perhaps the fortune cookie knew that today I have a math test that I definitely could use some extra luck. Or perhaps the fortune will lend me some needed leniency on a research paper I submitted less than an hour before the midnight deadline tonight...procrastination is bad. I don't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed by the reality of normal day-to-day living, and I don't want to interrupt the serendipity of the cosmological events set to transpire this day. But, if it isn't too much to ask, I would love to have an outpouring of serendipitous circumstances today. Not for me, of course, but for the sake of the integrity of this solitary fortune cookie; who has no voice to speak for himself. Pretty, pretty, please with a cherry on top let it happen for me...I mean the fortune cookie.

Death: The Journey of a Lifetime

After much thought and deliberation. I have decided that I would post something related to that infamous day ten years ago; September 11, 2001. I hesitated because I knew that countless ceremonies were happening and I am sure there will be plenty of news sources to read or memorials to attend. There has been a music written by John Adams, "On the Transmigration of Souls" that expresses beautifully the feelings of that day. What could I add? I decided that instead of looking to the past to remember those who lost their lives I would try to portray the present and where they are now.

Emily Dickinson wrote a poem that discussed the topic of death. How she felt about it and the journey after it.

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality

We slowly drove he knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove

At recess; in the ring;

We passed the fields of grazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

Or rather he passed us;

The dews grew quivering and chill,

For only gossamer my gown,

My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed

A swelling of the ground,

The roof was barely visible,

The cornice only a mound.

Since then tis' centuries, and yet each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses' heads

Were toward eternity.

-Emily Dickinson

Ms. Dickinson describes Death as one who, "knew no haste", as civil, and kind. You could call Death a gentleman by this description. One who comes when he is necessary and opens the door of the carriage to his passengers. He is the transport between mortality and eternity. Some will pass away at an old age, others will be taken in infancy; some will lose their lives fighting in war and others as an innocent casualty of war. Death passes upon us all. It is as natural as birth. It is not something to be feared. J.R.R. Tolkien describes it as a journey on a ship when, "...the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he [Frodo] beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise." Death is not the end. Death is the beginning of something more grand than we presently can imagine.

It has been a decade since that fateful day that claimed hundreds of lives. Thousands of lives have been claimed in its aftermath. I am not suggesting that we forget them, for they have not forgotten us. I am only suggesting that we view them in their present state; a state of tranquility, of hope, and perhaps some contentment.

I Must Confess

I don't normally do this, but I confess that I had a love affair tonight.

Time slowed as I saw her. My eyes were fixed, drinking her in as if she were the sweetest wine. I saw before me Aphrodite; she was coming toward me. I knew that this was going to be a night not soon forgotten. She was saucy and fresh, but not to a fault. Her subtleties and complexity kept me wishing that this night would never end. It was as if I had fallen in love with a beautiful sonata.
We both understood that it was only for tonight. There were no obligations for the future. We didn't let that keep us from smiling and enjoying the intricacies of one another. I was as giddy as a little schoolboy who has found his first frog. It has been a long time since I felt that way. Love does funny things to a person.
She gave and gave to me until she was no more. They came and took her away; leaving me with only a taste and a memory.

There is a beautiful relationship between a man and his salad.

I went last night to a restaurant that is by far the best place I have eaten in months, maybe even years. My salad was composed of crispy lettuce leaves, fresh corn cut right off the cob, craisins, pumpkin seeds, tiny cheese crumbles, and a dressing hand-crafted by the Gods. Words cannot adequately describe the entree's we experienced. I will say though that when I sampled a vegetable from my friend's plate; I was positive that I was eating the season of Autumn. I don't how else to say it. The food was beyond words. It wasn't only the food that was outstanding, for the atmosphere in the restaurant was perfect as well. My friend Al and I, sat under a glass roof looking up at the evening sky though it wasn't necessary to look up to view the heavens for the tables were glass on the top and reflected the sky beautifully. Our waiter, no he was much more than that. Our guide, tantalized our taste buds with his extensive knowledge of every aspect of our dining experience. The entire restaurant exuded an aura of organic elegance; beauty and charm without chicanery. It was like what every restaurant wants to be when it grows up.

There is a reason why the subject of blending, forming, and combining foods is called culinary arts. It is because it is an art. Perhaps one of the most under-appreciated forms of art, but art nonetheless. People often associate the word "art" with forms such as music, poetry, sculpture, painting, or literature. It is not too often that we associate it with food. It well may be because we are used to a steady diet of big-macs and fries. Fast food fits our lifestyle. It is easy; it is adequate; it is inexpensive. How often though do we really enjoy it? I am a staunch advocate for the enjoyment of life. If I am not happy and enjoying life then something needs to happen, usually that involves a book or movie and lots of chocolate in a plethora of forms i.e. cakes, brownies, ice cream, pies, or just a classic bar of chocolate. Anyway. Life is meant to be enjoyed and food, really yummy food, is a beautiful way to enjoy it.