One
of the best explorations of mindfulness—and the lack thereof—is in Graham
Greene’s delightful short story “The Invisible Japanese Gentlemen.” A woman writer, boastful of her powers
of observation which she’s sure will guarantee her success, never notices the
distinctive party of eight Japanese gentlemen (seven wearing glasses) eating
fish at the table next to where she’s holding court completely self-absorbed.
My
experience yesterday wasn’t as colorful or witty, but in the morning, having
forgotten to take breakfast with me to the wilderness that is our office, I walked across to the medical center café, intent on my woes. But thankfully I looked up and out,
just in time, by chance, and saw the beauty of the sun-struck dew glittering on
the sea of decorative grasses that wash over two Bronze Age hill forts (or so
they seem!) in front of the café, surrounded by white roses. I was chastened, and gladdened, and
taught an important lesson.
Fully
aware, then, I was further gladdened by a vegetable breakfast sandwich with
bacon (another of my sins), the kindness of the help, and the walk back along
our fountains—nothing like the Villa d’Este, of course, but nonetheless
something worth noticing and even seeking out each morning when the light is
right.
And
by that I have been reminded of one of my favorite Rilke poems, one of the
Sonnets to Orpheus translated by Stephen Mitchell, which speaks to my current
despair as it has to other losses, sorrows, disappointments over the years.
Appendix
VI
When
everything we create is far in spirit from the festive,
in
the midst of our turbulent days let us think of what festivals were.
Look,
they still play for us also, all of the Villa d’Este’s
glittering
fountains, though some are no longer towering there.
Still,
we are heirs to those gardens that poets once praise in their songs;
let
us grasp our most urgent duty: to
make them fully our own.
We
perhaps are the last to be given such god-favored, fortunate Things,
their
final chance to find an enduring home.
Let
not one god pass away. We all need
each of them now,
let
each be valid for us, each image formed in the depths.
Don’t
speak with the slightest disdain of whatever the heart can know.
Though
we are no longer the ones for whom great festivals thrived,
this
accomplishing fountain-jet that surges to us as strength
has
traveled through aqueducts—in order, for our sake, to arrive.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
image: Dunadd Hill Fort, Wikipedia
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