Blossoms

Saturday, March 14, 2020

Early blossoms on our morning walk today …

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If I wanted to write the story of my life (which I don’t), the strange fact is that it wouldn’t be about me. It wouldn’t be about some separate person named Hamilton who has been at the center of countless separate, personal experiences, as though I am the main character in a decades-long drama about myself. Life isn’t like that – isn’t separate and disconnected and personal. Life – anyone’s life – is a measureless sea, of which the “person” is simply one of countless essential, infinitesimal currents. My life story would not be about a separate “me”, but about the endless sea of life that has swirled and flowed across the universe in the years from 1941 to now. I am simply an ever-rolling ripple in this sea, and my story, like anyone’s, would be the story of the whole and never-ending sea itself. If someone asked me what my life is about, I would say it’s not about me, but about all the mornings and midnights since 1941, and about all the winds and seasons, and all the friends and families across the earth, and all the forlorn and friendless people everywhere, and all the trees and blossoms, and the spinning earth and all the stars and planets and the old, astonishing universe. That’s what my life’s about.

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People think that their world will get smaller as they get older. My experience is just the opposite. Your senses become more acute. You start to blossom. — Yoko Ono

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And finally, our magnetic poems on the frig today …