Each phenomenon on earth is an allegory and each allegory is an open gate through which, if ready, the soul can pass into the interior of the world where you and I and day and night are all one.
In the course of life, every human being comes upon that open gate where everyone gets surprised by the thought that everything visible is an allegory and that behind the allegory live spirit and eternal life. Few, to be sure, pass through the gate and give up the beautiful illusion for the perceived reality of what lies within.
Iris is a short fairly tale written by Hermann Hesse in 1918 and was first published in Märchen, his book of Fairy tales. This work is a new translation of the original.
The story portrays the life of Anselm who, as a young boy got fascinated with blue sword lily flowers, the Gladiolus or the Irises, which fascinated the painter Vincent van Gogh before him.
The chalice of the flower seemed to be the open an unvoiced question towards which Anselm's soul strived in anticipation of an answer. When he gazed into the flower's chalice in absorption it was as if his soul looked through the gate where appearance becomes a paradox and seeing a surmise.
Sometimes at night he dreamed of this flowery chalice, saw it opening gigantically in front of him like the gate of a heavenly palace, and through it, he would ride on horseback or would fly on swans. Then, later in life, he falls in love with a woman by the name of Iris and decides to marry her.
Short, entertaining, dream like fairy tale. Could be interpreted, and appreciated, on a deep spiritual level. But can also be read tongue in cheek and get interpreted on a completely different plane.
Colin Wilson once described it as “deeply erotic†and made the remark that “Hesse could never quite convince himself that sex is not eventually the most important thing in life. One suspects he came to sex too late and that if he had managed to get laid more often, as a young man, he might have been less obsessed with it in his mid-life.â€