My life is so arranged (rather, I have arranged it) that I find myself making frequent late night drives between the city and the country house. I did that last night, after seeing an exceptional play.
On the drive out I felt very much alone, intensely alone, driving through the late darkness, capsuled in my car. Not a loneliness of longing or depression or sadness, but an existential aloneness, a freedom, an ephiphany of sorts, recognition that I've been given a gift, the ability to be aware how tiny and insignificant and brief my life is in this dark, measureless, incomprehensible universe.
I understood that everything, my being, my life, all I do comes out of this darkness. Some of us make gardens out of darkness.
As I sit here today, looking over the green garden, I know that light is darkness and darkness is light, that I'm seeing darkness, that my eyes and brain interpret various frequencies of electromagnetic radiation as light, color, shape, my two eyes and brain allow me to think I can judge distance and spatial relationships, sensory cells create the illusion of fragrance and touch, ears sound.
But beneath this all is the cold, unknowable darkness that makes it possible for me to garden with light.
My favorite post of yours by far. Ever. When this post was delivered to my email, I figured something was wrong with the image downloader, but now that I read it on the full site, I get it. "Some of us make gardens out of this darkness." Yes, or at least we should.
ReplyDeleteI think about your post after raving about intensely artificial British borders, all gooped and amped up on annuals and bedding plants. While I do love them and the intellectual exercise of intensely designed successional planting, they lack the quietness and deepness you so eloquently describe.
A beautiful post. One I will come back to many times to savor. Very well done, James!
Thomas, thank you for saying this. I feared no one would get my point, that I hadn't said it clearly enough, but you did, so thanks for telling me that. I think your "raving," to use your word, about British borders comes from the same source; everything does, as I understand it. I recall an image used to try to describe the world of quantum physics, in which particles continually pop into and out of existence in some kind of quantum "foam," for lack of a better term. We live on the edge of existence and nonexistence, and our gardens are one manifestation of our choosing the side of life and hope and caring.
ReplyDeleteYou should expand that last sentence into a post itself. I wrote it down and will stick it on a wall to ponder and savor. Many thanks.
DeleteExcellent post, sir. It takes me back to some late-night musings in our dorm foom in Caylor-Williams, I believe was the name. You've always been able to phrase some deep shit, even if if was in your sleep. :)
ReplyDeleteAllan, yes, I remember the late night musings with great fondness, and I'm pleased to be in contact with you again, if cyber contact is indeed contact. I'm also pleased that your wonderful sense of humor remains fully intact. Yes, we discussed some deep shit. If I was asleep, it was only a metaphorical sleep.
ReplyDeleteJames it's the tranquility of solitude that leads to thoughts such as these.
ReplyDeleteDeep shit as 'nallasenyt' says.
Rob, a welcome and fortunate tranquility. I'd file this one under "Why we garden."
ReplyDeleteYour blog has been chosen by me for the Versatile Blogger award :-)
ReplyDeleteGreetings from Prague, Petra
Petka,
DeleteThank you. I don't have to do anything, do I?