I’m not sure we could ever declare with certainty when this morning glory came into being.
Will its birth only occur once the trumpet is all the way opened (sometime just after dawn)?
Was it when the spiraling bud first began to unfurl (when I and this corner of the world still slept)?
Or maybe it was born when the little knot appeared on the vine, tiny precursor to a bud. Maybe we should go back even further than that, to the seedling that sent up its perfect green shoots this spring and managed to avoid my grasp as I thinned the group. But remembering those freely-sown volunteers takes me further back, to last season, when I was too lazy to pull down the spent vines in autumn, allowing the seed pods to burst and scatter their descendants all over the moist soil, where they were quickly buried by falling leaves. An ancient dance.
And then, because it’s me, I have to ask: Was this glowing purple blossom, surely deserving of the name “morning glory,” born when I first planted the seed for last year’s vine — or perhaps when I first conceived of a garden here and F.’s shovel blade first sliced through the sod?
We could go back farther to look for the origins of morning glory essence, and that would be quite far for an heirloom morning glory whose seeds have been saved for over a hundred years. We could extrapolate into the future, too, wondering if a morning glory achieves its purpose and destiny and becomes a true Morning Glory only once a honeybee goes hunting for nectar deep inside that pale, delicate throat, emerges coated in shimmering pollen… and zips off to sip another flower, keeps the whole thing going.
From a certain angle, at least, it’s all process. The morning glory is always unfolding, forever becoming. Never completed, never having arrived, and never at a definite end-point. Certainly it’s never a finished product. It’s hard for organic beings to become finished products. And we human beings are organic, of course — whether we ever try to live green or join a CSA or grow our own pesticide-free food.
We typically spend all this time and energy seeking that final destination point, the end of the path when we will have arrived or achieved our goal of the minute, or year, or decade. The goal circles around our minds, draining us of energy, making us feel bad for not having gotten there already. And for what? So that we can move on to the next want on our list, the next thing that everyone expects of us, the next thing that is supposed to finally make us happy and fulfilled.
The very next thing that keeps us from enjoying this thing that is our life, unfolding like a precious bud, right now.
Maybe our brains are wired that way, and maybe it’s cultural or economic — but it’s definitely not a reality-based approach to living. Better to take a deep breath, forget all that, and focus on the slow unfolding, the glory of this moment… and this moment, and this moment, and this moment. That’s where life occurs, after all, and that’s all we ever get to experience.
An older artist and sage once told me to think of my art — and my life, if possible — as “process, not product.” And I know now just how wise she was to redirect my focus. Not that I don’t forget and need to be reminded all over again occasionally. The cyclical nature of life in my garden is one of the best gentle reminders I’ve encountered.
Week 26 of Focus, the halfway point of the experiment, appropriately enough, saw me cycling back around to one of the original reasons I had for choosing “focus” as my word of 2010: awareness of the present moment. This week was all about me unfurling, morning-glory style, before my very own eyes — and also about the steady revelation of the narrow slice of path directly in front of my foot, about the way the future unfolds itself very carefully, very simply, perpetually becoming now as if there were nothing to this cosmic magic trick.
I hope we’ll all take at least a moment to enjoy the future-become-present on this lovely Saturday. It won’t ever be coming ’round again quite this way.
Namasté, y’all.
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So very very true, Meredith. The older I get, the easier it has become for me to appreciate the here and now. I’m not sure whether it’s because I know the sand in my personal hour glass is slowly slipping away or whether it’s because I’ve always loved the journeys more than the destinations, but it does bring a sweet peace to know that right now – this minute – is all I can truly count on.
Have a beautiful Saturday!
Talon´s last blog ..Careless
The sand in each of our hour glasses is slipping away. I heard a quote recently, and unfortunately did not write it down, but the idea was that as the sand drops into the lower bulb, we suddenly get a much clearer view up here in the top half of the hour glass. A nice little analogy for attaining wisdom as we age.
I hope my own appreciation and awareness of the present moment will just continue to grow as I age, too, Talon!
BTW on Monday I’m blogging about Cape Columbine. See you there?
Elephant’s Eye´s last blog ..Food miles and OUR daily bread
Definitely, Diana! Looking forward to it.
What a gorgeous picture of the morning glory bloom!
Thank you much for stopping by my garden blog!!!
Nancy
Nancy´s last blog ..Steam Heat
It was my pleasure, Nancy.
Thank you for the compliment.
Yes definitely, and it’s something I’m really learning to do. Enjoy the day because tomorrow isn’t promised. My parents have always ignored the journey and tried to focus on the future, but the future never arrives, so it’s essential to enjoy the journey.
LL Cool Joe´s last blog ..Im not telling you
I agree, Joe, the future is just a mental construct — well, from a human perspective, anyway.
My parents were also often stuck in that hamster’s wheel of focusing on the future, to the exclusion of the present. But I try to realize that consciousness is always evolving, and they were doing the best they could for the times they lived in and with the conditioning and cultural training they had gotten. I suppose you could say the same for me or any human being, and that’s what will bring us to a place of compassion.
Isn’t it great to think how far your daughters and their generation may go in understanding and consciousness?
Let me think
Hourglass
Personal time
Cleaver view
Attaining wisdom
Past, present, future
The journey stands alone
Everything we was
Everything we are
Everything we know
Everything we want to know
Everything
Will be lost in a mille second
When we die
Never to be replaced
Yep it is time for me
To stop and smell
The Morning Glories
desk49/Ellis´s last blog ..
Love it, Ellis! Especially the “Cleaver view” line struck just the right chord with me.
(Just a whispered FYI, though: morning glories have no scent. Alas!)
Oh, Meredith, your Morning Glory is really glowing! It looks like a guest from a different world. I like your fat cabbage too, but that one reminds me of a predator -maybe, because of the red color…
Tatyana@MySecretGarden´s last blog ..July Blooms
It is a strange morning glory photo, Tatyana. I agree. I’d have liked to have gotten the shot in totally natural lighting — but it was a pre-dawn shot, hardly any light, and my point & shoot won’t do low light. Still, it turned out to be interesting, I think.
Now as for everyone seeing a menacing presence in the cabbage shot… I really don’t get that. Maybe because I’ve seen it live, I can only see cabbage — or maybe, lunch.
Oh, how I wish I had something wise to add to this, Meredith, but you have said it all so beautifully already! I have to agree in that how much are we REALLY in control of the paths we take to achieve the goals we want to achieve? Things bombard us all the time, the expected the unexpected, and the undreamt of. These things can, and often do, knock us off course. Sometimes we get back on course, most times we just go with a different one instead. Life is not linear, is very messy, and all the more creative for it, don’t you think? And now I think I may just be typing whatever comes into my head… I have digressed! Great bleating heavens!
Tony, I do agree that “life is not linear, is very messy, and all the more creative for it.” I had to also laugh ruefully at that description, because earlier this week my husband said in wonder and affection, “You’re just a creative mess.” Yes, honey, exactly. It only took a couple of years of dating and seven months of marriage to figure that out — feels like I’ve known it forever. But I embrace the mess as much as the creative. Who wants a tame and predictable life?
I’m probably going to steal “great bleating heavens!” and have one of my self-deprecating and erudite characters in a story or novel say it just often enough to make it his signature. Just so you know. Never heard that one before, and I like it. (Altho for me, it’s usually the Earthlings that are bleating and the heavens are gloriously still and silent.)
Oh, and I should say, I think some higher wisdom in us *is* actually in control — but it’s not the kind of egoic control that we typically envision when we use the word. And to us it often just feels like a wild ride.
Wow. This is so timely (which you will understand if you read tomorrow’s blog post). I very much appreciate the reminder to stop and celebrate.
elizabeth´s last blog ..scenes from the market
I’m glad you’re celebrating, Elizabeth. Much joy to you as you take this exciting fork in your path!
I love these focus posts.
Gorgeous photo – I only just now noticed the note on your sidebar about your point and shoot camera. Just amazing. You must have either read that manual from cover or cover or have some serious skill (or both!). Is there a description of the focus experiment? If so, can you include a link – either in reply or in your next focus post? I would like to know your thoughts behind it. I’d search myself but wordpress blogs are super duper slow for me for some reason.
Wendy´s last blog ..1st blogiversary giveaway!