Merely Observe Flowers

One of the ancillary benefits of Zoom is that you get a tiny glimpse into other people’s lives through what is behind them as they show up on your screen. While some of us zoomers choose fancy artificial backgrounds and others carefully curate a neutral background, most of us are content to display some small sections of our lives without worrying too much about it.

One of the participants (from Belgium) of our Boundless Way Temple Zoom meditation sessions had a lovely calligraphy scroll on the wall behind her the other day that some of us noticed and commented on. While she herself didn’t know what the characters meant, she sent a photo and one of our other members (from Pittsburgh) tracked down the meaning through a Reddit group. It’s the second line of a two-line poem by Liang Xianzhi, a Chinese poet from the Qing Dynasty (1644 to 1912).

Do not try to understand human affairs, merely observe flowers

As an aging gardener in the middle of a global pandemic, I take this as confirmation of what appears more and more evident to me. Human beings are endlessly difficult and confounding. I give myself a headache when I read or listen or watch too much news. The political maneuverings and power plays—the incessant blaming and vilifying of others—the sheer complexity of human affairs often feels overwhelming to me.

The garden and the flowers are a healing balm—an antidote to the fears and disturbances that so often pervade human interaction. The flowers are perfect teachers. They don’t give lectures or tests and you don’t have to take notes. The flowers don’t even demand that you pay attention. It’s all up to you. They simply show the way through their presence.

The flowers teach beauty and generosity. Each one, however large or small, expresses the essence of life.  The daffodils have been lecturing incessantly for the past five weeks–bright yellows, oranges and creams in various sizes and shapes. Their subtle fragrances and filigree belies their robust constitution. They survive the snow and sway easily with wind.

In their honor, I’ve decided to modify the meaning of the verb ‘to garden.’ Usually ‘to garden’ means ‘to cultivate or work in a garden.’ I’d like to take the work out it to expand the meaning to include ‘the act of walking through or sitting in a garden.’ This will now allow me to say, ‘I’m going out to garden’ and all I have to do is hang out in the garden.

‘Merely observe flowers’ is an invitation to turn our attention—to move from worried preoccupation to appreciative observation. We can choose to open our eyes and our hearts to receive the teachings of the flowers and the world around us. One worthy Zen teacher offered this pointer:

“Don’t seek transcendent enlightenment, just observe and observe—suddenly you’ll laugh out loud. Beyond this, there is nothing that can be said.’