Disintegrated daisies of likely loves

An allegiance to the fantastical prospect in fortune telling and yet one that is not so much ‘calculative’ in attending to the end notion in desire of exclusive love intentions, the universal mechanism in which effeuiller la marguerite works to override its French essence is one of definite perplexity. That is an oxymoron in employment indeed and one that is more than substantiating of what the English translation of the phrase as he/ she loves me, he/ she loves me not spans as.

Literally though, effeuiller la marguerite tends to find interpretation as plucking the daisy. But how did a game in evoking the rosy reds of love chart out a path amidst the flowers over the most lovely one in this field of the hearts? And why indeed would the whites of daisies be favoured in fumbling with the dreamy desires of this special emotion regularly raved about in standards specific to the ravishing reveals of the red rose?

Turns out the mandate would be one of royal stemming, and therefore one that need not stick by the generality of what prevails. And thus emerged out of the personal account of Queen Margaret of Provence this exceptional exploration of love, though not as a plot pondered over in playing. The ferventness of emotion guiding the wife of French king Louis IX entailed instead the plead of a prayer through which the game came to be. During the crusade of 1248 that endowed upon Margaret also the distinction of being the only woman ever to lead a crusade, however briefly, the queen found herself religiously performing this romantic ritual of petalled basis. When the king was captured during this period of time, Margaret found solace in plucking the petals of the daisy and reciting a prayer upon each pluck for the safe return of her beloved husband.

And indeed King Louis IX did return back home to his devoted wife and found it quite heartwarming an instance of pure love that Margaret had harboured. No wonder this profusely love stirred ritual on part of his wife led the king also to display his feelings of similar intent and thus was added three silver daisies to the family crest. Even beyond this association in romance of personal terms and outside as well its occurring across the royal realm, the daisied dwells of love have found as much fancy in being unravelling of the charms that romance has resolutely stood for in all of its encounters through the times.

The tradition is today well established but this still does not answer the pivotal question of why not the rose, or rather why the petals of daisy indeed as the flower of choice? French speakers would not have much difficulty in discovering the link that led this ritual to unfurl. Since in her very name itself the manifestation prevailed of this particular flower being the one ‘destined’ for such distinction as marguerite is another reference for the identity of the daisy to occur in its literal alluding.

For all its resting upon a French premise, the “s/he loves me, s/he loves me not” interpretation of the game does not seem to be as exactly conforming in this universally thrust prominence upon its ‘power’. Trust indeed then the exquisitely exclusive passion of the French to scout therefore such possibilities that consider also everything summing up the entire spectrum of what ranges between loves me and loves me not. The essence of course is still one yielding in to that inescapable prospect of anticipating the requitedness or otherwise of that thing called love. Not just in the highs of a profound yes or the dejection of a simple no though, but in speeches that matches up indeed to the diversely occurring nature of that experience.

The original version of the game unfolds in its French recitation of “Il (or Elle) m’aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie, pas du tout” that finds translation as “he (or she) loves me a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all” such that each possibility is taken into account in exploring the dynamic expanse that love is. Definitely more realistic than what is encountered upon its conveyance in English is this chased upon ideal of love that reveals itself somehow in acceptable accuracy.

This smooth transitioning from the poesy of passionate pursuing to assume greater accountability in terms of the scientific is perhaps what has continued to exalt the daisy in such dreamy rendition of what it essentially is. As composite flowers made up therefore of two individual blooms blossoming as one in true love, the romantic relevance of the daisy is assuredly established despite it not being the traditional treasure of love. But pervading the prettiness of its peculiarity as it being the flower of choice in this context of a love language is a much mathematical musing that only reinstates its accuracy in dawning the characteristic euphoria of love realisations.

Turns out that it is the Fibonacci sequence that composes the structure of the daisy which means that one is more likely to revel in their love finding requisition indeed, at least sought out through the plucks upon the flower. No wonder the popularity of the game has sustained in such repute of its resplendent rendering, gratifying indeed love steeped hearts with exactly such representations of a romantic reality as they desire.

Of course such deliberate attempt at weaving reason within this scheme of love deciphering is not really relevant if one considers it with specified scientific seriousness. But who cares indeed, for the very essence of such expression seeks to play out as an indulgence in the fantasies that the innately romantic human harbours as part of their character. The phrase usually alternated between as an assurance in love or otherwise may simply- quite innocently in fact seek validation for the preexisting belief of romantic reasoning, outside perhaps the dimensions of conscious logic, or pan out indeed wholly as a wharf on which whimsies are entertained. That one does not quite expect it to be the oracle of such assurance but still more than willingly take the plunge into what is but game only at the end of the day speaks for the charm that it itself has unfurled, in being made to scatter the sparkles of what sums up the aura of love indeed.

Unlike the trope that it resists thus in eking out the universal popularity of the rose to bring upon itself the love identity, this daisied take on romance though adheres still to the expectations in femininity. One therefore would be instantaneously almost conjuring up images of maidens plucking on daisies as seeking for themselves the loveliness of love- something parallelly asserted as part of reality through a rampant rambling of the ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ over the she pronoun in similar prophecy. Self prophesisation though also presents as a possibility, though more in the French fussing over it again.


And hence there asserts the pondering in such phrasing that spans as“Je l’aime un peu, beaucoup, ppassionnément, à la folie, pas du tout”. As something that finds literal understanding as “I love him (or her) a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all”, this version of the speculating still strikes as differently remarkable. Love indeed is never a liability in predictableness and the vagaries of what renders it the exciting emotion in experiencing is something that is more than aptly represented in this rethinking of its realising.

If attending to such diverse facets of loving is what this game of plucking the daisy identifies in, in all accord of its own, then it sure would be as acceptable for such play to proceed along a trail of humor. Occurring in this manner of representing another universal instinct in humour sometimes masquerading also as sarcasm and wit and the like is the version that is tweaked to sound like “He loves me, he loves me lots” such that there does not even exist the possibility in love unmanaging to find its own sweet way through lives. Deride it as you will- as a flimsy pretext in ignoring the harshness of a less rosy reality or lose yourself to this peculiar pleasantness in momentary dreaminess and the lovestruck lucratives of the world would entice you still with its ludicrousness lingering in some liaisoning with logic.

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