Dip me into a sea of light-heartedness and I’ll rise, floating on the bubbles of champagne like a strange intoxicated dove of peace. Too unreal to be threatening, too grounded to be inspiring. It is to be neutralized. Real things elate us in a way that surpasses those of spirits…they make us transcend. How is it that the rose manages to be so perfect? Can anyone tell me that?
One of the mysteries of this world, I suppose. Intrinsically connected with this fascinating property of flowers is that life-threatening sense of the most authentic tremors of existence. Those things that possess dynamic shapes and weights and don’t float so predictably one after the other like glistening bubbles, popping for no particular reason but to shows us that they as quickly as they come they vanish.
Real things leave a mark, wether good or bad…that is why they are so imposing.
That’s the thing about flowers, they know these secrets. If only they’d tell us everything…but would it be worth it?
