Sometimes, when I look at the world, even when I look at my own community, it is easy to despair. Potential war looming with Syria. Growing poverty. Rising numbers of people homeless. The proverbial arc of the universe does not always seem to bend toward justice. Perhaps history is just one long story of justice lost and death prevailing. And, personally, a grandfather I love dearly was just diagnosed with stage 3 cancer.
And so I walk in the forest. Today, I took a long drive up the Wynoochee, to the head of the valley I grew up in, and hiked by the lake. It is a second growth forest; perhaps sixty or seventy years ago, the entire area was clearcut. Slashed and burned. I hate the sight of a clearcut-- simply because the area looks so dead and lifeless.
Now, the douglas fir and cedar trees tower upwards, feeding off the rich soil. Sunlight dances off the moss and the silent whispers of ancient wisdom and long dead ancestors not my own are heard if you listen closely enough. Life is back with a vengeance. The forest is a place of resurrection.
Perhaps that is why I need to be close to the land. Because the woods and the rivers and the soil teach me that life is stronger than death. That resurrection is possible. That wholeness is possible. In the forest, the flicker still flies and the little red squirrels build their home and the huckleberries still grow out of cedar stumps. And I am part of a great circle of life, unafraid of death. Knowing, deep in my bones, that goodness and life are woven into the fabric of the universe.
No comments:
Post a Comment