In the middle of the ocean, at the middle of the world, there floats among the gentle, unceasing waves an almost unknown phenomenon of ponderous proportions. Atop the water grows a single flower. It is as delicate as it would seem, growing without soil, and without roots to anchor it to the earth. It varies in colour, but never in delicacy. I have heard stories of it being blue, purple, white, yellow, or, more strikingly emphatic of unknown, un-ethereal origins, black. The flower’s stem is mind-numbingly thin, and the fact that it does not snap during the course of the ocean’s swaying ebb and flow, but instead remains to be the most sublime, most eerie, most magical, and, dare I, I who have only ever heard of the tale of the flower in passing, say it, the most beautiful of all natural objects that have ever sprouted upon the face of this waterlogged swirling ball of chemicals and dust.
There once was a prince, or, so that is the way the story goes, that was both young and preposterously wealthy. He cared very little for any normal source of beauty. No paintings, no sculptures, no pottery, no tapestries, and not even the face of the most strikingly symmetrical of all women, could satisfy his thirst for beauty. He spent years acquiring vast arrays of proposed esthetical objects, but could none would be found.
One day, while absent minded flipping through an assembly of the highest respected poems that have ever been written, a crash was heard from another room. In rushed a dozen of his guards, who dragged behind them a peasant.
The peasant, clothed in his tattered clothes, was both bruised and bloody, and was bound with rope.
“We found him plucking the royal roses in the courtyard, littering the ground with snapped stems, discarded petals, and destroyed beauty.” The head guard shouted to inform the prince of the crime committed. “We recommend immediate execution.”
“You have been picking my roses?” said the prince to the accused man. Do you not know that I have spent an exhaustive world-wide search for only the best specimens? How dare you cause such disturbance to the harmony of my gardens, of my castle, of my kingdom? For your insolence and arrogance, your life shall henceforth be forfeited. Take him away,” said the young prince.
“Wait,” cried the peasant. “You think your gardens are the best in the world? Your roses were unhealthy, dry and dying, they gave me nothing but pity, so I ended their misery. Your garden, while on the surface, is clod in serenity, but if one explores deeper down, an absence of the essence of beauty can be clearly felt.”
“How dare you insult my efforts to obtain the most beautiful garden in the world; there is no greater gardens, there is no place on earth in which I have found any greater example of beauty.”
“That is because the most beautiful flower on earth will never arise through soil,” boldly spoke the prisoner. “It cannot have earthbound origins. It must sprout from other means. Your garden is an example of the best flora in the human world, but nothing in the human world can radiate beauty in the same degree as that which is not derived from humanity.”
“Your words confuse and mystify me,” said the Prince as he dismounted his throne, and approached the man, beckoning his guards to give him space to talk. “But how can a simple peasant know so much about beauty?”
“I have spent my life seeking for the most awe-inspiring of all objects. I have scoured the globe, as you have, seeking something to enflame and inspire me to reach greater heights than I have now. Until recently, I believed that nothing which human eyes have seen could ever be defined as beautiful, and that beauty alone is derived from solitude. If you do not understand what I mean by that, I will give you a brief example. “
“Months and months ago, I believed I had spied with my little, earthly eyes, a flower that might have fit my very definition of beauty I so desired. I was walking along the footpaths of an outlying mountainous region close to the border of your great land, when, quietly and as if I had known that I must look up, as if my eyes were lifted by a divine power, I raised my head and gazed up to the sun. After admiring the sun, which I might admit, does have within it the bare threads, the mere traces of beauty, my eyesight naturally drifted towards the peak of the tallest mountain. From my spot, standing upon the low lying rocks, I saw what appeared to be a crystal flower, shimmering and with light bouncing from the petals. The sight struck me with immense terror, a slow wonderment filled me, and I could not hesitate, I rushed at the rock’s face as fast as I could. I began to climb, and, what felt like half the day, passed quickly as I toiled greatly to push myself past the first layer of clouds and into the heavens that the crystal flower must have sprouted from."
“When I reached the top, disregarding the immensely profound view of the land, I raced as carefully and as swiftly as my little legs could drag me. Upon reaching the spot in which the crystal flower was supposed to have been, I, instead of finding what I have been searching for, discovered an even greater mystery. The crystal flower, was instead only rock. It had been laboriously carved by some unknown, archaic hand, and was not at all as beautiful as it was meant to be. In despair and dismay I nearly threw myself over the cliff at that moment, had it not been for, out of the corner of my eye, the small, almost unrecognizable s***** that was chiselled into the side of the mountain.”
“What did it say?” asked the prince with wild, open eyes, listening to and absorbing every blood tingling word the peasant had to say.
“I have discovered, after spending a few years translating the rock, what I believe to be an ancient myth that tells of the world’s primary example of beauty.”
The king, clenching the peasants shoulder in his arm to contain his excitement at the prospect of discovering the object, urged the man to continue.
“The myth tells of a flower that grows from the ocean."
“From the ocean?” asked the prince quizzically.
“The tale tells of a floating flora, unconnected to the world except through the contact made between the very tip of the stem and the ocean. I found this hard to believe myself, but, according to the legend written on the tablet, the description is quite clear. At first I thought that the story was bogus and just human imagination, but upon further examination, directions to the flower are quite clear.”
“Where is it?” demanded the prince. “Have you seen it?”
“No, I have never seen it,” responded the tattered peasant, “I am but a humble and poor peasant, and the flower requires a ship to see. This is why I have come to you. I have heard stories of your unprecedented search for beauty, and, seeing as how we must, in the very depths of our soul, be interconnected to some greater force that propels us to continue our search, I decided I must solicit your attention in order to, while I still have a few years of life left, be able to partake with you in a journey to the center of the earth to see the most beautiful object in the world.”
The peasant stood silent, and knew that, after his request had been listened to, it was now up to the whim of the sovereign to participate in the journey.
The prince, taking a few paces around in a circle of his chambers, decided then and there that “we must begin our search at once.”
The prince, despite much political reproach, assembled the greatest naval array the aquatic world has ever seen and, he, along with the peasant and numerous men, began their journey, despite the criticism that if he left, his kingdom would fall.
The prince boarded his new wooden home, and set sail. Several months passed upon the open ocean, and, despite losing every other ship in his armada, upon the way, the king sailed along, alone.
“Your myth has cost me my worldly power and wealth, peasant,” said the prince to his voyage companion. “But, time and time again, you lull and nurse my wounds with promise that we are nearing our destination. I no longer care for the riches I have left behind. All I care about is seeing within my field of vision this flower which you so elegantly describe time and time again. Nothing else matters. My life will be done before we can return to land, and, we both will have a watery grave, but that does not matter, so long as for even just one instant I can feel the universe’s beauty emitted from this flower, the one moment of perfect unison.”
“Look, I see something on the surface of the water,” suddenly exclaimed the Peasant, pointing out towards an area of calm sea in which the boat was being pulled towards with immense speed.
“I see it too, by the power of the winds, I see it too!” cried the prince, as he captained his boat with mastery of the waves.
They arrived at the legendary spot, and peered down over the side of the boat at the flower, most definitely real.
As he looked into the petals of the flower, he knew at once he had made not made a mistake. He had spent his life, his fortune, and all his time in search of this one myth, and, although the journey had been costly, he knew that it was not futile.
The flower, immensely fragile and delicate, was absolutely the most accurate definition of beauty he had ever had. There are no words to describe the power of the emotions that overtook the two life-long searchers of beauty. The prince wept with joy, while the peasant threw himself into the sea, trying to pick the coveted flower.
“No,” screamed the prince. “If you touch it, you will ruin it.”
The peasant, paid the man no attention, and swam as fast as he could towards the glowing object. He must have it. He needed to feel it between his hands. He needed to caress the stem, to know the touch of the world’s most beautiful being.
The prince watched in utter horror as the peasant grew closer and closer to the flower. At last, the peasant outstretched his hand and made the motion to grab the flower. A terror-filled scream filled the air as the peasant disappeared into the water, baffling the prince. Suddenly, the warmth of the sun disappeared behind grey clouds. The calm sea began to churn and twirl, which caused the prince’s boat to begin to circle faster and faster around the flower, floating delicately upon the ocean. A rift opened up and began to drag the boat towards the bottom.
“In attempting to covet the flower for himself, he has disturbed the ways of nature,” said the prince reflecting not in terror but amazement of the peasant. He sought beauty for himself, while I sought it simply to see. He will be drowned in the depths of the ocean, while, although it might seem as if I have been ordained to the same fate, will die peacefully, having seen what I needed to see.”
With those words, and a final, resounding, dare I say it, satisfied smile, the prince and his vessel dropped into the sea.
The ocean calms, as if neither ship, nor human had ever been there before, yet a single flower still floats upon the water, beautiful, yet unseen.
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