Young and Old Hyacinths

In this season of  a "new arrival" in the garden every day, every morning, every afternoon, today i am planting my aged hyacinths, which bloomed indoors in February. Two months later--today--they are brown and bent, looking like decrepit old ladies. Into the ground they go, to rest in peace.

Our eyes do not rest for long on the old and the un-beautiful. We distract ourselves by focusing on the young and the cute and the oh-so-sweet who are so full of life. We give ourselves a transfusion by claiming the young for ourselves--distracting ourselves from our own slow diminishment, our own bending to the gravity of time.

We say "Age before beauty," but we privilege beauty and under-privilege age.

Spring! Drink in the anti-gravity of life welling forth.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.


-- Rumi
    translation by Coleman Barks