In the Land of Camellias

Perfect Camellia Blossom at Descanso Gardens

Today was Super Bowl Sunday. Yesterday, I said to Martine, “Let’s go somewhere. Everyone will be watching football, so traffic will be light.” And it was—except for the fact that Caltrans shrank the I-405 from six lanes to three for about six miles.

We had lunch at Martine’s favorite Armenian rotisserie chicken restaurant, Sevan Chicken in Glendale. Then we drove to Descanso Gardens and spent three hours there wandering around.

February is not normally known for flowers, but that doesn’t apply to camellias. According to the garden’s website:

There are more than 3,000 kinds of camellias ranging in color, form, and size. Native to Asia, camellias are hardy and have a long blooming season. The two most common species at Descanso are Camellia sasanqua that bloom in fall/winter and Camellia japonica that bloom in winter/spring.

Martine walked around a lot more than I did, but I found several comfortable benches and read from Zen Poems, a collection edited by Peter Harris, in which I found this apt poem:

Camellia Blossoms

My ancient hut’s a ruin, half-hidden under moss—
Who’d have his carriage pause before my gate?
But my servant boy understands that I’ve beckoned an honoured guest
For he leaves unswept the camellia blossoms that fill the ground.

An interesting sidelight: Unlike most Americans, I am not a coffee drinker. My beverage of choice is tea. Interestingly, tea is made from the leaves of the Camellia sinensis, or Chinese camellia.

Serendipity: The Burning Coal, A Zen Tale

“A Buddhist Parable”

“A Buddhist Parable”

This passage comes from p. 182 of Thomas Pynchon’s Bleeding Edge. It’s not a bad description of some people I know.

Shawn tells her the Buddhist Parable of the Burning Coal. “Dude is holding this burning hot coal in his hand, obviously suffering a lot of pain. Somebody comes by—‘Whoa, excuse me, isn’t that a burning hot coal in your hand, there?’

“Ooh, ooh, ow, man, yes and like, like it really hurts, you know?’

“I can see that. But if it’s making you suffer, why do you keep holding on to it?’

“‘Well, duh-uhh? ’cause I need to, don’t I—aahhrrgghh!’

“You’re … into pain? you’re a nutcase? what is it? Why not just let it go?’

“‘OK, check it out—can’t you see how beautiful it is? lookit, the way it glows? like, the different colors? and aahhrrhh, shit …’

“‘But carrying it around in your hand like this, it’s giving you third-degree burns, man, couldn’t you like set it down someplace and just look at it?’

“‘Somebody might take it.’

“So forth.”

“So,” Maxine asks, “what happens? He lets go of it?”

Shawn gives her a nice long stare and with Buddhist precision, shrugs. “He lets go of it, and he doesn’t let go of it.”