Orange Blossom

Sunday 7^th July 1991

In the garden the orange blossom is prolific – burgeoning all over the place, + the perfume intermittently announces itself (there’s an intermittent breeze swirling it around). Glorious scent. You can’t describe it – you can’t say “it’s like such-and-such” because it’s the sort of thing to which you compare other things – the scent of orange blossom is a primary datum, a reference point, it is itself, sui-generis, + all you can say about the perfume of orange blossom is that orange blossom has the scent of orange blossom! It’s wonderful, + the sight of the somewhat unruly tree (? overgrown bush) laden with these white petalled perfume factories, these releasers-of-reality (the scent of orange blossom is the only reality for the duration of your smelling it) – the sight of the dense florescence is a gorgeous sight, a sumptuous sight, a rich aha! sight which the perfume, the scent, distils and transmits so that the brain has a stereo sensory input of orange-blossomness: the olfactory + the visual together yield an experience of orange blossom equivalent to the depth experience of stereoscopic vision: an extra dimension of orange blossom is transmitted, a dimension which can only be revealed or released by the interaction of the olfactory + the visual. Orange blossom is a way into the depth of reality. To inhale the scent of orange blossom is to breathe God.