Today was the third of November but I smelled roses!
Even in Autumn there are roses in London - I saw some in
the Regents Park. I continued walking and looked at the names of the roses. There are various names of different kinds, some named after persons, some fanciful, some to be expected. One was called Jean Merrill. It made me wonder if there is a rose named after
John Merrick. Because I was thinking some people need their own flower more than others. It's all very well to say "My xxxxx, she was as beautiful as a rose so I named this variety after her", but what about people who don't remind you of roses? Don't they have more of a need to become beautiful in our eyes?
I didn't know John Merrick so I don't know if he was beautiful on the inside, but I can say that I find nothing ugly about his external appearance. Just being different, that doesn't make anyone ugly. Ugliness, to me, is something somehow against nature or life, something that seems to say no to being in love with being alive. So when I (very occasionally) see some famous modern film actor on the front of a magazine, I just see a mask and many painful hours and dollars of work trying to make the mask less like that person's original face. And though they are supposed to look good I find it quite horrible-looking, I'm afraid.
The feeling that something is wrong with you, on the inside or on the outside, leads to masks. Different kinds, but the purpose is to hide the true inside to conform to what we think is required of us. Of course, surgical procedures are a very extreme (though in many ways very easy) way of changing the outside - that's one way of enhancing a mask, but here I really mean masks in the sense of a kind of personality disguise, a way of being like someone else so as to fit in better.
People change their manner in several ways. There are comedy people, people who solve their feeling of awkwardness by being comic. They are a human joke. But they are not a joke, they are serious people who have a lot more to give than awkwardness. Look at people's behaviour. Are they playing a role but they have forgotten they are acting? Very serious, bookworm, always has an academic point to make, hides in his books, that's another one. Always coming to the rescue, has to be strong for everyone...because he secretly believes he is weak - another, but doesn't need to act strong, because real strength is surely there under the surface. And it's a deeper strength. Also there are other types of shell personality. But what are they hiding?
What is the real personality? What would our true character be like if we hadn't altered it?
Look at someone before they change - look at a child. I know you remember how to be like that anyway. Perhaps you remember what you used to do and how you used to be. Well, the point is not to go back, but to remember when you were calm and yourself and try to touch it from where you are now. It may be impossible, but in some senses it is actually not very difficult, since it is the only natural way to be - everything else is just too painful in the end.
What will people think? They will think you are a little bit peculiar. But compared to them, you will be. So laugh if you feel like it. Sing or dance if you want. Have a change of clothes. Give something nice to someone nice. Help people. Play.
That's why I like it that we say "playing music"! I'm playing all the time, me, I am!
Then when we are like ourselves again, we won't need our name on a rose. No need to add beauty when we are all so beautiful. We will be the ones giving roses to those who need them. People who don't know yet how they really look, inside and outside. People who have not bloomed, or cannot see the colour of their own flower.
Back in the park, I continued going around and remembering all the things I had done there when I came to each place, a fountain, a bench, a tree. And the memories of my people who had been there with me could be seen so clearly. They all had beautiful petals and a lovely scent like the first and last flowers on earth. But not one of them really knew what I could see, then or now. It was so much clearer now to me.
The smell of roses was so rare in Autumn that it stopped me in my tracks and made me go back to taste them again.
I couldn't go back to see my human flowers because they had all gone away, except for the trace that remains.
Actually there were not very many to remember. The number is a very small number.
But there was no-one there now.
Except lunatics coming towards me offering me magazines about God, oh dear! Stop distracting me! Just when I was getting on nicely with nature.
Magazines! About God! Honestly. If there are any gods nearby I would prefer to deal direct rather than looking at illustrations.
Until next time, practise believing me if I say you are beautiful! I cannot prove that I am right, but I can promise that I am telling the truth. PS I am right!
Lots of love!