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quiet failings

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Gardens give us wonderful practice in enjoying the fruits of our failure.  The weather here over the weekend was astonishing and much of the time was spent over weeds and under shrubs.  The walkway was rescued from a variety of growth and I took the decisive steps in pruning the Nishiki which was bullying the azalea.  The Anemone looked a little lost but is sure to find its way again.  The Kniphofia however have gone the way of all organics as has the calla lilly.  I had little hope for the latter, being a tropical plant and all.  But the Kniphofia?  It’s lasted for years.  It appears some vagary of cold, wet, and a butterfly flapping in Mongolia has knipped off its mortality!  Too much sun.  I will be better tomorrow.

That does remind me of failures though.  I don’t fail.  I disintegrate.  Oh, over the years I’ve learned to mouth the psycho-politically correct things about failure being good for you, motivation to get up one more time, etc.  I’ve re-framed failure for others as another opportunity to be creative, a chance to re-invent oneself.  Oh yes, and when it seems like you’re invisible to those who hold the reins of power over your life, why, just take a different stance to their cruel ignorance of your worth.  These ministrations seem to work for everyone – really, people get better at being one with their failing.  Pas moi.

Apparently, not only do I fail at failing well, I fail at rehabilitating from failure too.  (No happy ending to this state of mine will be attained by the end of this post, btw.)  ‘Tis a conundrum.  I do try.  I try my hardest at failing well, gracefully, with insight and a realistic stance to owning what was mine and not turning on the flamethrowers in the direction of what might be the owners of what was not mine.  I don’t know how well I do with that because I’m too busy plotting success – which apparently is the best form of revenge.  I suck at that too.

So, I’ve been observing how the garden fails.  It seems rather effortless.  There is this intense blossoming at the start and then things seem to just fade away.  Quietly.  No fuss.  No gnashing of kniphofias.  No bungling of bee balms.  Silent absorption into its original state.  What is the original face of the flower before it bloomed?

I might try that.  I think I could be rather good in quiet failings.

Some failure is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failure at something – unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all. In which case you’ve failed by default.

JK Rowling

(Rowling gave the commencement speech at Harvard.  It’s an amazing talk on the power not only of failure but of wisdom and community.  You can see it here.)

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Joko Beck in hospice

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Barry at Ox Herding just announced that Joko Beck has been placed in hospice.  Similar to Barry’s experience, most visitors to this blog find their way here through the search engine term “Joko Beck.”   It’s not surprising.  Joko was the first Zen teacher whose words sunk in and had a profound impact on my life.  Her transmission of the dharma brought to me – as it has for many others – a sense of all this being doable, possible, likely in my lifetime.

Here is the message about Joko from her daughter; the complete message is on the blog Clouds:

My mother, Joko, is now in hospice and I don’t expect her to live more than one or two more weeks.  I put her into hospice because she was not eating and losing weight.  Please know she is completely happy.  She gets to lie in her hospital bed and no one is telling she has to get up and walk every hour.  No one is asking her to please eat.   Now, she will take a few bites of breakfast, and maybe a few bites of her other meals and eat all her vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.  She is happy as a clam and, as she told me, will die when she’s ready.  She says it’s soon.

Please hold Joko in your prayers and meditations.  She leads.  We will follow.  Such is the path.

Namo Avalokiteshvara
Namo Avalokiteshvara
Namo Avalokiteshvara