Time Warp

Last month, when I was in DC visiting friends for the weekend, we decided to drive out to Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens.  Located on the East side of the city adjacent to the Anacostia River, the gardens are the only national park devoted to aquatic plants. Walter Shaw, a Civil War veteran who lost his lower right arm in the war, purchased the land that is now the gardens in 1879 from his in-laws and began “playing in water,” planting lilies from his native Maine and later lotuses. Walter’s dabbling would grow to become a successful enterprise. Eventually, he passed the business to his daughter Helen. Both father and daughter brought in plants from all over the world.

Our visit to the gardens coincided with near peak bloom. Walking among the towering, vivid pink and white lotuses, we felt as though we had stumbled into a prehistoric time warp. Their equally tall seed pods, on the other hand, looked futuristic, almost extraterrestrial. Dozens of dazzling, shimmery blue dragonflies hovered and flitted everywhere we turned, adding to the out-of-space and time effect. The no less stunning water lilies, floating on the surface of the water, were more than contenders for our attention. It was hard to know where to cast my eyes in this arresting vista. I found myself laser-focused on one flower, one petal or seed pod and then expanding my gaze to a wide-angle view taking in as much as my eyes could see. 

Lotus flowers and waterlilies are symbols of purity because they arise pristine from muddy waters. For the same reason, they represent transcendence, blooming from the dark underworld into the light. Both have been used in religious ceremonies for thousands of years. Dragonflies are said to signify change and transformation, adaptability, joy and light.

As we walked to the car that afternoon, a visceral disconnect began to take hold, the gardens fading and reality returning. In fact, that lovely escape took place on the eve of the police takeover in Washington, DC. My friends and I were not sure what to expect, what the next day on Capitol Hill might look like, or what the days ahead could bring for our cities, our country, our world. The suspension in time at the aquatic gardens was an ethereal gift in the murky waters of uncertainty. 

Maybe it is too soon to dare to hope breathtaking lotuses and waterlilies can eventually spring from those waters accompanied by joy-anointing dragonflies, but it is not too soon to escape to or appreciate places nearby where those dreams still live and still have the power to soothe us.