All is nothing but flowers in a flowering universe

One needs only study geology to realize, once and for all, that even the mountains we take as symbols of eternity are, in fact, like everything surrounding us, only manifestations in motion, the illusion of stability which is actually the true face of change, yet another being in the process of growth or decay.

Why do I insist on complicating things that are really quite straightforward? It’s just a mountain, for crying out loud, get a grip.

Years ago the symbol of my life became the spiral, (I suspect it was the symbol all along and I just eventually realized it), but in any event, the spiral is movement: here to there, in and out, forth and back. When you see it drawn in two dimensions, it appears just to move from the center to the edges, or from the outer to the inner, but in 3 dimensions, though ultimately it may be tending in one direction, if you follow it closely it moves in a lot of directions in rapid succession. Rather dizzying, really.

The way a boring, plain little seed makes its way up towards the sun, then falls back down again into the dirt, possibly providing us sustenance somewhere in the middle, delaying our own spiral downward.

Somewhere in the middle of my flowering life other flowering lives have appeared, whose stems grow strong and whose leaves drink in the light. It is dizzying the way our individual spirals reach out into the world like the tendrils of a bean plant curl around whatever stable object the wind blows them up against.

The decay will surely come, the petals falling, sagging bits, furrowed brow, death. Name forgotten. There is no monument, not even faces carved into the side of a mountain, that will survive time’s dizzying spiral forward, warping all of space in its wake.

Sometimes, riding the waves of the wake, we stop to smell a flower: a friendly face encountered, fresh bread eaten, groovin’ tunes enjoyed, cool fat raindrops in a summer thunderstorm. It will all be gone soon enough, but today, how sweet.

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