sea of jasmine

I am standing in a Mediterranean garden, in the hills, where the air is cool and yet the sun is warm. The garden fence is covered with jasmine in full bloom, and the smell of the jasmine flowers permeates the whole garden like a sea of aroma: sweet yet delicate, somehow intoxicating. I feel rather drunk on the smell.

The smell of such flowers reminds me that life is to be enjoyed directly, through the senses, and not through words. If you have smelt jasmine yourself, then what I am saying will convey something to you. But if you have not tasted it directly for yourself, then all my words are fruitless. You cannot imagine the smell of jasmine and no words can convey it. So jasmine, along with the other flowers, reminds me that words are secondary. Words may have some use after the event, if we have had some similar experiences, or common experience. But they are a secondary thing and the real joy of life comes from this direct experience, without words, without thoughts – just closing one’s eyes and breathing deeply of life, of the moment, of the richness of nature and all the gifts of existence that are showering upon us every day, every moment. This is what the smell of jasmine reminds me of. It is like a temple bell sounding. It brings me back to the centre – a place of stillness and yet rich, vibrant, alive. Jasmine in particular has such a rich aroma, it is fit for gods. It is easy to become intoxicated by life when one is floating in a sea of jasmine.