With St. Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I’ve
noticed an increase of angst. Valentine’s Day is a brilliant marketing idea
that took a little legend and turned it into a celebration of guilt. It should
really be called “I Listened To The Hype And Got Shamed Into Buying You a Bunch
of Roses Day”. Suddenly, people run around making all kinds of elaborate
displays of affection for their beloved. It always struck me as silly because
if you have someone in your life you love, shouldn’t every day be an
opportunity to shower them with affection? Why would you need a day marked on a
calendar?
Then there is the usual symbol for love and Valentine’s Day,
the red rose.
“My love is like a red red rose” – Robert Burns
But I think about it and find that if you really look at a
rose, it’s true charm and attraction is its incipient symbol for expectation.
Have you ever seen a rose when it is just a green polyp on the end of a bush?
It has a lovely shape, then slowly the green leaf starts to unfurl and the
flower petals are unveiled. It is a study of contrasts; the green against the
red. The petal has a similarity to pursed lips. Perhaps that’s why it is such a
symbol for romantic love.
Then as it blossoms, the petals unfurl but there is a point
when it becomes past its bloom. The petals fall like tears and the ground looks
like it’s covered with broken hearts. There is nothing as sad as a dead rose,
its head bent, broken and bald.
I like to think as love more in keeping with a sunflower. A
sunflower grows tall and proud, I’ve seen them as tall as 7 feet, their proud
faces straining at the sky as if they could, they would fly up and disappear
into the sun.
Which leads me to this poem by Thomas Moore:
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy wings fading away
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself fervently still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear.
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close:
As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose.
“As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets…” That’s a
great line, because whosoever captures my heart, will capture it completely. It
strains to fly, as love should fly. When it dies, its petals whither, the head
drops forlornly, but it still stands. Yes, I’ve simplified it, but love shouldn’t
be complicated. Love should be easy and simple. 