31 August 2011
On Nature (an obsession and a need)
As hectic as it often is, I love my life. (I love my life!) There are things I would change if I could, of course, but it does not take much to make me happy. If my relatives were closer, life would be practically perfect. When it all gets to be too much, though, I find that stepping back and taking the time to get outside and ‘hug a few trees’ goes a really long way toward dissipating stress.
Due to my schedule, I spend the better part of the daylight hours sleeping, and it can be difficult to short myself on sleep and wake up early on my days off (especially since I am a night-owl by nature). If we have a full day free of obligations (oh, so rare a day is this), we get up at the break of dawn to drive 2 hours to our favourite lake for a day of swimming, hiking, horseback riding, picnicking, and a lot of reading and napping lazily under the trees. Sadly, my regular exercise regimen is mostly done inside, though: cycling, weights, stability ball work, and a variety of Tai Chi forms and Yoga routines. I also expend quite a lot of excess energy dancing and singing to Bollywood filmi music while doing my chores (‘garaj baras saawan ghir aayo…’), although this is not officially part of my fitness programme. (Oh, yes—‘Sorry,’ to my neighbor downstairs, for those rare times he is home when I am bebopping around.). My husband and I love to walk and hike, however, and we are lucky to have several wonderful parks in our area that have paths and trails that offer a range of difficulty levels. Yesterday afternoon was perfect weather, sunny and breezy without the gross stickiness that has been ubiquitous this summer. We opted to leave the laundry for later in the week in favour of a taking long, moderately-paced stroll along a tree-shaded bike path that meanders along a river. This was exactly what we needed; all of our recent walks have been around our apartment complex in the middle of the night. As we strode along the river, we were so wrapped up in each other and in the sights, sounds, and smells of our surroundings that we were surprised when we hit the 4-mile mark. We hated to turn around and go back to the parking lot, but we had a dinner date with the in-laws, so we had to pick up the pace on our return to ‘civilisation.’
What is it about nature that is so restorative for the human soul? (While I have known people who could not bear anything even vaguely resembling nature, I have long held the secret certainty that these individuals are all alien pod people.) I would rather be outdoors doing just about anything than to be doing just about anything indoors. Read a book—go outdoors. Shell peas—go outdoors. Do homework—go outdoors. Take a nap—go outdoors. Actually, it is odd; I must have nearly pitch black conditions in order to be able to sleep inside, but I can nap in the dappled shade of a tree at mid-day with no problems. Nature just naturally relaxes me in a way nothing else can (except church). I can be having an awful day, but if I sit outside on the swing for my ‘lunch’ (at 2030, so it is nice and cool) and watch the hummingbirds and the swaying of the trees, then I am refreshed and ready to tackle the rest of my shift. Swimming in an ocean, lake, or river is so much more fun and so much more exhilarating than slogging back and forth in a pool. Heck, even paddling my feet in a shallow creek is a fabulous way to spend a day. But why? Why does the outdoors make me feel like I am in a chapel, make me feel relieved and unburdened, make me feel like I am where I am supposed to be? I recently skimmed an article about the wavelengths that natural things resonate at. Perhaps that has something to do with it. Prolonged, close range exposure to electronic devices makes me feel ill, so why can’t lounging against a tree or walking barefoot through the grass make me feel better? Whatever the reason, I am glad I feel that way.
I would love the chance to travel across more of the U.S. and explore wilderness areas. Let’s see: Florida, Arkansas, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Tennessee, and Hawai’i… I only have 42 more states to go! Even more so, I wish I had the time and money to travel the world. [Of course, the cost of my obsessive travel photography alone would be staggering (I don’t even want to think about the logistics involved with travelling with what I would consider ‘enough’ film)! Digital just is NOT the same, although I probably should go that route with colour shots since I do not develop or print from colour film in my darkroom. Anyway—back on track…] I would like to explore natural places everywhere to see if the exact sense of the sacred differs in any way from place to place. (Getting to meet the people and experience all of the cultures along the way would be a nice perk, too.) Now I just need to come up with the perfect mickey to slip to my husband so I can get him on a plane!
O-kay, this calls for some poetry! LOL
. . . .
WOODLAND WHISPERS
Whispers slither through my flesh—
insinuation, innuendo, that subtlety
that only nature can possess.
I lie awake—but only just—
in dappled light, and watch absorbed
as small creatures creep and skitter
and a doe steps gingerly in the treeline
with her watchful liquid gaze.
We look across the undulating lawn—
eyes meeting, measuring—
and by her side the speckled fawn moves,
restless with such curiosity
as slew more than one felid.
But mother is somewhat wiser,
and she stands with twitching tail,
unblinking, wary and on edge…
While still the rustling of each
blade of grass whispers
to my skin of beauty and life
and tells secrets to my primal mind
that I never can recall.
. . . .
So long for now.
12 August 2011
Inspiration and Wavering Hope
I have been re-reading Turtle Island (Gary Snyder, 1974). It is not a long book, but it is deeply inspirational for me. Each new reading provokes new thoughts and reflections (which is generally true of Snyder’s work). I truly admire the writer and his writing. Turtle Island may be temporarily ousted from its pride of place from time to time, but it always rises back to the top as my favourite of Snyder’s works.
Several years ago, I used an excerpt of one of Snyder’s poems as the texte of a glosa poem for a poetry course. At the time, I was feeling rather disgusted and depressed about the state of environmentalism in the U.S. While I still find myself similarly frustrated and ‘wavering’ in hopefulness from time to time, I have since become significantly more active in environmental causes and actions outside my personal sphere. This most recent re-reading of Turtle Island prompted me to track down that old glosa poem, so that I could revisit the way I felt after reading ‘As for Poets’ for the first time in a long time…
Inspiration and Wavering Hope
`The life in his poem
Left millions of tiny
Different tracks
Criss-crossing through the mud.`
From `As for Poets`
By Gary Snyder
Deep ecology with Taoist centre–
A new vista unfolds before my disillusioned heart,
and discovery brings profound realizations.
I am an unfinished page, filling through synthesis.
While many are blind, deaf, mute,
the earth writhes with human venom!
Some seek panaceas for their irredeemable consciences;
while one expressed his vision through his words…
With ravenous and undeniable awe, I welcome
the life in his poems.
Buddhist, traveller, teacher, brilliant mind–
Love of life, love of earth, love…
His deeply grounded knowledge and determined life
are examples as I seek my own light-stepping path.
His grasp of the rhythms of earth and human spirit
is embedded in his words– uncanny
how they moved my mind and spirit.
Reading each rising word, each line, I sank.
Those beats, flowing anything but blindly,
left millions of tiny
ripples echoing onto time.
The power in each breath that lingered on his pages,
raw like those wild, restless, and unconformist men,
convince me that some generous passion still is hidden
in human breasts– though some are selfish, inhumane.
The state of nature and of man– both in parallax–
are cause for condemnation not content;
they require us to sacrifice for future while we can.
Like rows of mirrors refract
different tracks
into space and space and space,
so are we reflected down the line with endless relevance.
The torch is flickering while heroes age and die;
this man, too, is failing and sometime will fall.
His thoughts remain to stir me still– and always will;
the surface of that well of words is far from limpid.
My anarchistic optimism strangles angrily on the truth;
yet I, and others, wade stubbornly on with purpose green.
In the end I cannot help but see our hopeful sweat and blood
criss-crossing through the mud.
(August, 2005)
