Everything fades but beauty remains
Just last week these flowers were fresh and new. Today, they’re looking faded, wrinkled and droopy.
But I think they are still beautiful, just in a different way. I love the graceful curves of the stems of the hydrangea flower and the way they can now be seen more clearly.
Everything fades but beauty remains
Perhaps because I myself am getting older and feeling myself fade, wrinkle, and sag, I appreciate the beauty of flowers that are also past their prime. A lot of people feel bad about getting older. Mostly I relish the patina of time and wisdom that living longer has brought me. I am happier and free-er now than I have ever been in my life.
“It is lovely to meet an old person whose face is deeply lined, a face that has been deeply inhabited, to look in the eyes and find light there.”
― Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom
Fresh and new flowers
Each day of living, every sorrow, every joy, every success, and every failure has taught me something. And as my husband likes to say about getting older—it beats the heck out of the alternative (death). Flowers, trees, and plants help me to observe and accept the cycle of life that we humans are a part of. Things are born, they grow and mature, and eventually all things die and decompose to feed the next generation of living beings.
There is beauty in all stages of life.
There is beauty in all stages of life and value in believing that we are not separate from life or different from other forms of life. We are worthy no matter what or who we are. Love is not only for those who can give us something, or do something special. Love is the primary energy of life. It is for all.
Many years ago, I met a young mother with a son who was born with a severe congenital brain deformity. His little arms and legs were often contorted tightly and he needed to be held almost all the time he was awake to help keep his little limbs from becoming rigid. I began going to hold young George once a week for an hour or two so that the boy’s mother could spend time with her 3-year-old daughter, do laundry, or simply sit and rest. It was always a sweet time holding George, though it was also hard work physically.
“We’re all just walking each other home.”
―
Radiating Love
I marveled at the resilience and unconditional love of his young mother. She radiated love in all that she did. Over time I discovered that being present with George was an exercise in pure unconditional love. Perhaps that was how his mother became a radiator of love. Winning a tiny smile from George, helping him to drink from his bottle without choking or inhaling the milk, feeling him relax a bit in my arms as we listened to music together—all were tiny moments of grace.
“I’ve enjoyed every age I’ve been, and each has had its own individual merit. Every laugh line, every scar, is a badge I wear to show I’ve been present, the inner rings of my personal tree trunk that I display proudly for all to see. Nowadays, I don’t want a “perfect” face and body; I want to wear the life I’ve lived.”
― Between a Heart and a Rock Place: A Memoir
My mother suffered from dementia at the end of her life. It was hard when she occasionally didn’t recognize me and difficult for me to accept. For a period of time after she died, I greatly feared the possibility that I too might experience dementia when I get older. I seriously told my youngest daughter, “If I learn that I have dementia, I’m going to stop eating and starve myself to death.” My trickster daughter grinned widely and asked innocently, “What if you forget?” Wham! If felt like a zen wake-up call. So, what if I do experience dementia? Is that so terrible? Gradually I’ve let go of a lot of the fear I had about what the future will bring. I hope for a little bit of laughter, a little bit of kindness and beauty, and a little bit of chocolate if I become unable to care for myself.
Back to my flowers…
Because the petals of the flowers I bought last week were already beginning to droop and drop today, I finally felt comfortable pulling the flowers apart to play with making a flower mandala. I simply cannot make myself pull apart fresh beautiful flowers. It just seems too cruel and a waste of their beauty, even if the purpose is to create another kind of beauty.
I now understand why I am not a nature mandala maker. Those pesky flower petals have a mind of their own. They insist on curving this way or that when I want them to lie flat. A tiny brush causes them to move out of place, and picking up and placing the tiny petals requires patient precision (not something I am known for).
I did manage to make a sloppy mandala however and enjoyed it’s ephemeral nature. After I made it and photographed it, I swept the petals into the compost bin.
So here are my wishes for myself and for you as I contemplate the knowledge that everything fades: may we become radiators of love; may we embrace the belief that everything fades but beauty remains; and may we some day become compost for what is waiting to be born.
May you walk in beauty.
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