Contemplation. Contemplation. Contemplation.

The term contemplation seems to have become a far too familiar state of consciousness that has engulfed the entirety of my life; whether to do this or that, say this or that, without coming to any sort of reasonable conclusion, has turned into an unremitting struggle for me. The notion of “making a decision” has always overwhelmed me. Perhaps this anxiety is due to the fact that I have this amazing ability to believe the fate of my life rests on the most minuscule decisions, and if I don’t make the right decision everything will collapse and be utterly detrimental to myself and the rest humankind.

This idea of contemplation reminded me of a poem by Henry King called "A Contemplation upon Flowers." The poem exudes a sense of awareness, a sense of being entirely present within the confines of reality and knowing that life will come to an end; it is a futile illusion to always seek some sort of imaginative future that appears to be inconceivable, unpredictable and, generally, unachievable. The flowers King speaks to are content with living in the earth, the soil in which we as humans dread to join. We all have this common imagination that tends to become overwhelmed with despair regarding “the end” so we inevitably overanalyze the present, and past for that matter; we feel as if we must become something beyond ourselves in order to feel satisfied and content. Perhaps I am fearful of this feeling of being unfulfilled, rather, the fear that others will perceive my life as being unfulfilled. It seems I am more concerned with other’s perception of my life so I am constantly contemplating my current state of being in order to appear to be “the best Jenna I can be”… how terrible eh?!

I am somewhat alright with my life at the moment, it has been worse, however I want more but not for myself but for others? Is that strange? Selfish? Selfless? All of these terms seem to fit my issues as a matter of fact, but not justify them. I don’t have any sort of epiphany to conclude with so I will just end with Henry King’s poem and hope it inspires all of us to embrace a moment in time that comes and goes like the whispers of a spring wind.

A Contemplation upon Flowers
By Henry King

BRAVE flowers--that I could gallant it like you,
And be as little vain!
You come abroad, and make a harmless show,
And to your beds of earth again.
You are not proud: you know your birth:
For your embroider'd garments are from earth.

You do obey your months and times, but I
Would have it ever Spring:
My fate would know no Winter, never die,
Nor think of such a thing.
O that I could my bed of earth but view
And smile, and look as cheerfully as you!

O teach me to see Death and not to fear,
But rather to take truce!
How often have I seen you at a bier,
And there look fresh and spruce!
You fragrant flowers! then teach me, that my breath
Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death.