My Dad passed on thirteen years ago this week. He loved all the flowers in the garden but was particularly devoted to the peonies. On this anniversary of the heart, I’m sharing this poem he wrote in 1998 which was two years before his death.
To A Pink Peony
Unrivalled, the pink peony outshone
the other colorful flowers in the garden.
With joyful admiration
Tinged with wonder
I watched her unfolding.
Maidenly, a paragon of perfection.
How much longer
Before the inevitable reality
That o’ertakes all created things befalls?
Apprehensive, I captured her on film
Painfully aware no shadow could suffice.
As feared, it was not long before
Her withered petals bestrewed the ground
The pink peony no more.
From the void within
Some brooding thoughts arose:
What are you now?
Must transience always deny
the most cherished treasures of life?
Were some gifts conferred
To be better enjoyed in memory?
Must loss hound-like pursue the path of joy?
Is this what is meant
by “This too shall pass?”
Or as Eastern sages have said:
“All is Maya.”
Footnote: To a Pink Peony
“Maya” is the Sanskrit word for God: power of illusion, that brings about the whole world. This power causes the individual soul to believe that the unreal is the real, and that the transient is everlasting.
The poem and the footnote are my Dad’s. A beautiful poem that shows how the peony in all its radiance and beauty was the catalyst for this deeper questioning and exploration at his time of life. We all have those existential questions and don’t usually have anyone to share our deepest thoughts with. I’m glad that my Dad was able to put his feelings into poetry.
As I grow older, I understand that it’s the people around us who are afraid to talk of death. It’s not the person who is consciously and subconsciously aware of this reality. At a certain time in each person’s life, be they healthy or ill, the “passing” happens. This body wears away. These candid observations and questions were definitely made by a man who was actively completing his “life-work.” All the ambitions, dreams, longings, that we all have as young people, were no longer to be pursued by him. He had been there and done that. This was a time for reflection.
“To be, or not to be” is that line we all know from Shakespeare. In a way, we spend a lifetime being conditioned to “become.” At the end of this lifetime, we finally get to admire the peonies and reflect on what it is to really “be” and the duration of this being. We wonder about all that we have observed while we were actively pursuing a life of ambition, success, and making a mark. My Dad was having a little time “to be.”
I’m reading a book now called “The Exquisite Risk” by Mark Nepo and this is what he has to say about being and becoming. “Yes, being and becoming take time, and this commitment to stay open is at the very core of what it means to be a person. Person, from the Greek per son means “the sound that passes through.” As well, the Blackfoot word for wind is So Po – “something going through.” These simple yet profound notions seem to name our time on earth. For something is always going through–from inner to outer, or the other way around. Like it or not, ready or not, it is this constant passage of life through us that forms us inwardly, if we give it the time.”
There’s always a “passing through,” Daddy. I’m glad that you passed through. Thank you for “To A Pink Peony.”
There were peonies in a Mother’s Day arrangement that was sent to me this last Mother’s Day. When the arrangement came, they weren’t open – but as they opened up each day, I took pictures of them. It was since that time that I started thinking of Daddy’s poem “To A Pink Peony.” Time does go by – the passing of time, the passing of memories, the passing of different peonies in our lives.