Coming to Our Senses

I have noticed that when I am photographing flowers, smell is seldom a factor for me.  So much so that unless the scent is really powerful, I forget to sniff.  I become so immersed in the the movement between color, shape, and light that I pretty much forget everything else.  However, smelling flowers is one of the great joys in life, and I certainly do not want this important sense to go dormant.  In a society that is overladen with chemicals and artificially scented products, it is tempting to not even bother to smell our way around.  That, dear friends, is a loss we cannot afford.  

 

This week I was blessed to spend a couple of days with long-time friends at Villa Maria del Mar in Santa Cruz.  I think that each one of us at some point found ourselves exclaiming, "Doesn't the air smell wonderful?"  Sea air is so recognizable, that if we have stood on a beach just once and breathed in, I think we would forever recognize the smell should we return.  In fact, our relationship with the ocean may be so primordial that we might recognize the smell even if we have been blind desert dwellers all our lives. 

During this retreat I also witnessed something else about smell.  By the front door of the retreat house grows a lovely green plant in a pot.  Friday mornings are a busy time at the house as those of us who are finishing up week long retreats are vacating our rooms and packing our cars.  As I was walking into the house to turn in my keys, another guest, someone I did not know, was dashing out. She looked at the plant and exclaimed, "Mint!"  She then picked a leaf and declared that it smelled very good.  She then continued on her way.  

 

I love both the smell and taste of real mint and have some growing in our yard.  I did not recognize this plant as mint, but it certainly could be in the mint family.  I picked a leaf in anticipation.  

Nothing.  I did not smell mint, nor did I taste mint.   Either this woman's anticipation of mint over-rode her actual experience of the plant, or my senses are duller than I thought. I do hope it is the former.    

   

This morning I return to the dance of light and color - a picture actually taken on a foggy morning on a street just above the beach in Santa Cruz.  Alas, I cannot tell you if these roses have any scent.  Many hybrids don't, but I must not jump to conclusions.  I shall work on that.    

   

Today, may we breathe deeply and make room for all our senses.  Perhaps we do not live life but rather we are woven into its beautiful fabric. Let us pay rapt attention and give thanks for all the glorious threads.   

     

"Come," my heart says, "seek God's face!" 

Your face, O God, do I seek.   

 

Psalm 27:8   

The New Century Psalter