Migratory Birds and Synchronicity
A Chekhovian Moment of Synchronicity
It was a Wednesday evening in the first week of May. The dogwood tree in the yard was in full bloom, producing its pink petaled flowers. Each year this represents the full promise of spring — one of hope and renewal, with a subtle reminder in it’s falling petals that it won’t last forever.
“That’s a messy tree”, remarks my grandfather, who is 90 years old this year and has no further insight into the nature of things other than telling us what cars and what houses he’s owned throughout his life. He is a peculiar man, estranged by his own actions in life from his family, now come to live with us after the passing of his wife. Where one sees beauty and renewal, the other sees a “messy tree.”
I suppose a life of buying “perfect things” may lead one to the conclusion that you cannot have beauty without a false veneer.
For me, this past year has been one of existential slumber, focused too attentively on business and making money. It is a vulgar state — a state of wanting to climb an imaginary ladder to make more money. And in the back of my mind resides the quote by Dostoyevsky:
“You have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”
