Verdant Splendor – A Natural History Poem
- Published: October 27, 2016
Stride out, away from such confines as homes, stores, automobiles. You will melt away, and yet, remain, standing in the world as you were meant to be.
Let all grudges, petty worries, woes drift up into the nest of leaves that gently hide away all the sorrows of our time. You will find yourself, suspended, like a coddled infant, born anew.
There is no sadness in the forest, only something much much deeper. Something silent and painful. It aches.
Now we understand our origin, our place. It is a grand, noble feeling. With new sight one can venture onward, expecting and prepared for difficulty, strife.
I stand in the clearing and bathe in filtered sunlight, eyes flickering, head tilted just to one side. The silence is deafening, a cacophony, haunting.
Who, what, how is there someone standing here? What have they done? What is their life? Their thoughts, are they theirs?
Dead leaves cover the ground, phasing into the trees, phasing back. There is a cycle here, and I cannot help but feel caught up in it and helpless to its forces.
Down deeper I crawl, to see what I cannot on two legs.
The mind is very sensitive in this open, observing state. It is easy, when one’s ego melts with the sunlight, to feel vulnerable, susceptible, like a wild animal being hunted. Your very pores are open and alert to all that is around you.
It is glory, it is splendor.
It is water, rushing into the ground
to give life.
It is cascades and cascades of precious rain,
rivers, ice, snow, drops, sprinkles,
streams, rivers, and all others that add
to the raging torrent of life. It carries us
on, and on, and on. Better to let go,
let it rush you to where it wants, than struggle
and drown. Many struggling are drowning,
and many drowning need only cease
I close with a question.
Something to ponder as you view these images.
Take it to heart and don’t waste its message.
If all disappeared in your life; your friends walked away, your money gone, your home in flames, your husband or wife a ghost, the things that made you “you” vanished in a whiff of smoke, what would remain?
You would still be here, alive, yet not alive in the way you think.
You would still be here though.
You would still be here.
Still here, as you were meant to be.