I have always felt like somewhat of a hypocrite for not knowing the names of plants. I have reconciled this lapse with my interest in plants, however, by understanding that my reluctance to learn plant names lies in my reluctance to enroll them in human culture. How nice it is, for example, to see the straggly yellow flowers that bloom at the base of the post of my right railing. Equally nice they are in their closed state on dark and gloomy mornings.
American Indians, of course, lived this to the full. They knew Bear, not a bear. Muskrat, not a muskrat. Just as I know a bunch of yellow flowers rather than whatever their name is, common or scientific or, Yellow Flowers, I suppose.
Enrollment. It is the death of the . . . not person, because that depends on some kind of social context that, arguably, is a form of enrollment . . . id, maybe, being? Beingness?
In any case, enrollment demands a level of tractability that works against the simplest expression of the being, and the beauty of the plant, in my opinion, lies in this free and spontaneous expression. True, my simple gaze produces a kind of enrollment, and for this I am sorrowful (how sensible then the protective veil), but I suppose my saving feature, my gift, my expiation, my atonement . . . is my ignorance, my refusal and inability to name the plant that lives before me.
I suppose this perspective lies at the root of the dismay conveyed in some of my earlier posts. Why this plant rather than that one? Why put this plant here and not there? Why not just like the plants and the earth to which they belong as they are, as they seek to arrange themselves?
American Indians, of course, lived this to the full. They knew Bear, not a bear. Muskrat, not a muskrat. Just as I know a bunch of yellow flowers rather than whatever their name is, common or scientific or, Yellow Flowers, I suppose.
Enrollment. It is the death of the . . . not person, because that depends on some kind of social context that, arguably, is a form of enrollment . . . id, maybe, being? Beingness?
In any case, enrollment demands a level of tractability that works against the simplest expression of the being, and the beauty of the plant, in my opinion, lies in this free and spontaneous expression. True, my simple gaze produces a kind of enrollment, and for this I am sorrowful (how sensible then the protective veil), but I suppose my saving feature, my gift, my expiation, my atonement . . . is my ignorance, my refusal and inability to name the plant that lives before me.
I suppose this perspective lies at the root of the dismay conveyed in some of my earlier posts. Why this plant rather than that one? Why put this plant here and not there? Why not just like the plants and the earth to which they belong as they are, as they seek to arrange themselves?
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