The Perpetual Sadness of a Flower

Delicately balanced at the edge of the window sill, the sight of a singular small flower surprised me, but also delighted me at its act of soft rebellion, growing in a place where it had been decided it cannot. Its plain yellow petals glowed under the reflections of bright streams of light from the setting sun, the petals taking on the sky’s colors, transforming into a vibrant piece of art, making it seem like it had just stepped out from a Fauvist painting.

It seemed to have taken a strange hold of my attention, the details of the flower becoming clearer as the world around me gradually faded and disappeared. For that moment, nothing existed other than us, two beings of nature who found each other in an unexpected turn of events. I wondered how something so inherently insignificant could make me feel a plethora of emotions. As the shades of the dusk darkened on the intricately designed petals, my feelings seemed to become shrouded in a cloud of gloom, from appreciation to quiet contemplation. 

It made me feel small, as if I could disappear at that very moment and the universe would not be crucially affected – a blip in the statistics and an old memory among loved ones. Then, however, these empathetic sentiments were replaced by a feeling of superiority, as I towered over the tiny creature, with the power to sustain or destroy it. God must look at us in a similar manner, I thought, as the flower persevered against a particularly strong gust of wind. But does He ever find Himself at crossroads with himself? Does He ever have reservations about his abilities? If we, created in His image, can be riddled with doubts and anxiety, is it that far-fetched to think that God may feel that way too sometimes? The supreme being can grow weary too. But like, the flower against the wind, He perseveres, we persevere.

These conflicted emotions soon fell short to an overpowering despair of the scene, projecting an unwilling pessimism through my body, and throughout all of this, I could not put my finger on why I was being affected so strongly by a mere flower, or why something which is regarded as a symbol of beauty would inflict such sadness. It signified death and pain and loss, but also hope, gratitude and elegance – melancholy and majesty blending into a crudely sophisticated caricature of life itself. Fragile, as life can be diminished at any given time, nonetheless, beautiful with its grandeur and diversity. The gentle swaying of the flower becoming a metaphor for the uncertainty of it all, the plainness concealing the richness within, revealed under the colors of the sun. I felt like I could understand then why so many artists and writers incorporated elements of nature in their work, each interpreting various natural constituents in their own manner of creative thinking and imagination to provide meaning to life - nature serving as the ultimate canvas to reflect on the philosophy of one’s own.

I was dissociating, my mind detached from my physical being, working with profuse enthusiasm while my body lay motionless. Reality was distorted and the only way I knew I still existed was because I was still thinking, helping me get a firmer grip on Descartes’s philosophical reasonings, while pulling me further away from my surroundings. Mind-body dualism formed an intimate connection with my understanding, a concept which had seemed distant before, now ruled my thoughts with a dominating presence. I was conscious and aware, albeit disconnected, an odd sensation but a significantly real one.  

Of all the places and objects that could have sent me down a rabbit hole of philosophical reverence, a simple flower growing on my window sill would have been the farthest of them all, yet, here I was, lost within the petals and leaves, mesmerized by all it stood for and all it will ever stand for.