Wisteria

I just returned from visiting two extraordinary beings. We spent long days together, walking the beach, eating food straight from the garden, entertaining drop-in neighbours, celebrating someone’s birthday, playing with the language of our childhood, listening to each others’ stories, and hugging gently (without the customary urgency to disengage). Both my hosts — each in their maddening way — are burdened with complicated, painful, and life-threatening illnesses. Yet, they laughed, toyed with words, sat in silence, napped at leisure, and repeatedly drew my attention to the riches in ordinary moments.

Returning home, I found these lines by the Japanese poet Basho:

Exhausted
seeking an inn
wisteria flowers

Matsuo Basho (1644–1694), recognized as the greatest master of haiku, penned this while on pilgrimage in the last decade of his life (he died at the age of 50). In spite of his extreme tiredness, he saw the beauty of wisteria blossoms and was able to experience pleasure in the midst of pain.

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