One afternoon coming down from the mountain, I passed by a small lush green pond, where the quiet beauty of a patch of yellow irises moved me deeply. Rain poured not so long before, water droplets clung to long slender leaves and delicately fringed the fragile yellow petals. Defiant vitality of the irises stood out against low reeds surrounding the pond; the flowers looked at the rain up there, not at the water.
The pond was too far to capture the reflection of the irises, while the sky was arched and cleared after the rain like a giant eye encompassing the world, making me think of composite eyes. If all mirrors and lakes on this earth were parts of a massive composite eye, then every living being would be reflected in images of another world.
In that world, Narcissus leaned over the river and was pulled down by water nymphs who were infatuated with his beauty. His mother saved him, hid him from goddesses’ desires by sending him to this world. Here, his beauty amazed everyone again. Narcissus became a symbol of enchantment, constantly pursued by paparazzi and fans. Exhausted, he fled to the forest, wandered for days until his clothes were filthy and his hair and beard grew long. Saw a riverbank, he was too afraid to approach, so he dug a mud hole nearby to drink from it and smeared mud on his face. That hole later sprouted a cluster of yellow irises.
Emerging from the forest, no one recognized Narcissus anymore. He chose a large, modern, bustling city—a concrete jungle—to “nest” in a high-rise building. People were too busy to notice anyone. Only occasional news articles would mention a reclusive heartthrob who turned down all offers to act in movies or attend events.
Years passed, and Narcissus passed through his twenties, thirties, and into his forties… feeling a growing sense of meaninglessness. On his forty-fifth birthday, he was drawn to a proud cluster of yellow irises at a florist’s so he bought a bouquet. That evening was as quiet as any other; the sky poured rain, the radio played classical music, and Narcissus drifted into a dream of a deep lake, cold water. Algae brushed against his skin. Breath of countless fish swarmed his face. He jolted awake, yellow irises on the dining table are still radiant. His faint reflection in the window overlooking the night city seemed both familiar and strange.
Narcissus jumped up, went into the bathroom, and looked in the mirror—something he hadn’t wanted to do in a long time. He cut his hair, shaved his beard… and smiled.
I shared this story with the yellow irises before heading home. That evening, the TV aired a program about rainforests of South America. The narrator’s deep voice concluded that every individual, no matter how small, plays a vital role in the vast and complex life of the primordial forest. That cluster of irises in the forest surely has an important role in the biosphere of the mountain. Narcissus, too, plays a role in the inorganic forest of skyscrapers. Perhaps, in the end, he realized, and smiled with happiness.