I am still here. And there have been a lot of thoughts flitting through my head, some new, some old. Apparently I am living through a process of settling down into myself. I know I keep saying that, but I continually surprise myself, and so it bears repeating.
Let's start with a peony. This is the same peony that I shared at the bottom of my last garden post, just a better picture, taken in the evening, in the "golden hour". This peony has been thriving, with over 4 dozen blooms. It lives on the east side of my front yard. It is the peony whose roots are intermingled with a little lime hydrangea. I have thought, on several occasions, that the two should be separated, but they seem to be thriving together, and so I leave them be. All of the peonies are roughly the same age, but this one, cohabiting as it is, seems to be the happiest. it is the one peony for which I do not have to supply support as it is propped up on those hydrangea branches. I suspect that it thrives in the early spring sun, before the hydrangea fully leafs out, and the hydrangea protects it from the worst of the summer heat.
Most of the peony blossoms have been beaten into the ground by now, these photos were all taken last week, before torrential rains, thunderstorms and heavy winds took their toll, but the memory of peony season remain. The peony above was the last to open, just before the rains hit, but after a brief pause it is sending out new blossoms now. What I thought was a fleeting moment has become something different, not just a moment but a trend.
I don't really remember the name of any of the peonies I've shown you, but I do have a garden plan, and I do have them marked. The same will be true for iris varieties in the other pictures I intend to put up in this post. I could look them all up, but I'm not really sure it matters much. There are things that do matter, but the name of the flower doesn't particularly affect my enjoyment of it. Better, I suspect to simply accept the joy that is offered.
Things bring me joy as well, but it doesn't really matter if the thing itself has any value outside of my own feelings for it. As far as I am concerned, it seems I have reached a point where provenance, in and of itself, doesn't matter. If something has beauty, or function, or is meaningful to me in some way, that is all that matters. That is not to say that I cannot be judgmental, that I don't have my own biases. I do make judgements. We all make judgements, and very often these judgements are made on incomplete or faulty assumptions. I know that I sometimes make misjudgments, about things, and about people, mostly because of lack of information, ignorance even. I can only hope that I am willing to change my mind when faced with additional information if so warranted.
Which brings me to people. I am human, and I, like every other human, seems to have a default setting, an inbred assumption that the way I see the world is the same way everyone else sees the world. Of course this is not true. What seems like common sense to me might be outright foolishness to you, if not downright dangerous. What I've found is that I don't really care about what anyone else believes, or even whether or not we agree, even on topics that are important to me. I do not mean that I would disrespect or ignore someone else's beliefs, beliefs are important to who we are. I mean that I don't dislike someone just because they don't believe the same things I do, nor do I assume they are stupid, wrong, evil, or a host of other adjectives. I do care about people who are willing to seek out common ground, who are willing to think about their own beliefs as well as those of others, who are curious, who are willing to say "I don't know". All I suppose I care about is that we are willing to seek those things we have in common beyond our differences, and see that are differences are a part of ourselves, that we are willing to question, not only others but the very basis of who we are, the very thing makes us human. That doesn't mean we can always connect, but I like to hope that we can always try. If you don't want to connect with me, I have realized that I won't dislike you, but I might not make time for you either. If someone intentionally tries to hurt me or those I love, that is something else altogether. That doesn't mean I can't strike out when I feel backed into a corner. That doesn't mean there aren't days when I am more entrenched in my own views than others. We all have good days and bad days. I think the best we can hope for is that our good days outweigh our bad days.
Which brings me to something else that struck me along the way. The other day I was a part of a conversation about Mahler symphonies. Several symphonies were discussed and I found the conversation fascinating -- the person who loved #3 or #5, the person who liked 7 more than 5. The person who found 7 difficult. I would listen to snippets of each in my brain. And then I was asked which was my favorite Mahler symphony, and I drew a blank. Not because I didn't know the symphonies, but because right now, I don't have a favorite. I love them all. I can imagine them each. Once upon a time I would have said the ninth, a popular choice that, or the 5th. I did say I am leaning more toward the late symphonies now than I was when I was younger, which is true. But I also realized that I no longer really play favorites with music. Perhaps this is an outgrowth of my project to be less judgmental when listening to music, to just allow myself to experience the moment. If so it is an unexpected consequence, and yet, ultimately, a rather good one. I don't need a desert island symphony. Actually the sea is probably symphony enough. Whatever I am listening to is enough.
Certainly this hasn't been always true. I've had favorites, I've held grudges. But at the moment neither one really plagues me much. The book I am reading is the book I am reading. The person I am talking to is enough. The music that surrounds me in this moment. I wonder how long this will last. Is this a permanent change? or a temporary bubble?
But it struck me, this week in particular, that this is where I am now. I love the blooming roses as much as the chive blossoms. I love the new green buds on any tree. I've long loved all kinds of music, all kinds of books, all kinds of art. I love the five dollar purse I bought at Target as much as the fancy designer bag George gave me. I suspect whether I love something, or someone, or not depends entirely on my ability to engage with that thing or person on some level. There are no limits.
Today I am tired.
Today I am reading a Daniel Silva novel.
Today I am listening to Zemlinsky.
Tomorrow will be different. All of it can be good.
