Monday, December 13, 2010
Mister Lincoln, You Smell So Sweet
Years ago, my mother helped me find the
sweetest-smelling roses. I chose St. Patrick, a pale
yellow rose, and Mister Lincoln, the deepest,
most true red rose around.
And now, in the middle of December, when I go out
in the backyard or look out the bedroom window,
I see him. He stands tall, lanky, even, stretching
towards the light, completely unfertilized and
unpruned, yet sending out large red, remarkable
They greeted me when I returned from my
life-altering retreat a week ago. Life-altering because we studied the Tibetan Buddhist teachings on the moment of death and the transition
between lives in the bardos. If that doesn't blow your mind to study, absolutely nothing will.
They're beautiful teachings, if you ever have a chance to hear or read them.
My hours in the backyard are limited now by blessed hard work in the Compassionmalas Etsy mala shop and by weather sometimes. It's my favorite place to meditate. After the retreat I went out into the back yard, saw the roses, and went over to smell them. Their fragrance is lofty and sweet like an old-time, ladies boudoir. Like old perfume, but not cloying. Just intoxicatingly gorgeous. Not a light sophisticated smell, but an old-fashioned, red rose smell.
You can get Mister Lincoln at many rose growers both online and nurseries. It's rated 8.3 out of 10 for reliability. That means that you can't go wrong with it if you have some sun. I certainly ignore and mistreat mine, yet still, Mister Lincoln smells sweet.
Dear old soul.
If I don't have another chance to write before the holidays, have a wonderful time whatever you do, wherever you are, whoever you're with. Joyful to have, such a human birth, difficult to find, free and well-favored, as the Buddhist prayer goes.
Peace to you and yours.