Coming Back As A Stone

There are some that believe in reincarnation.  I’m not among them, although I am perfectly willing to admit that I know no more about what lies beyond mortality than you do.  Who knows, maybe we’re both wrong.  Nevertheless, thinking about reincarnation, I was contemplating what the optimal comeback would be.  Unimaginative people say they want to come back rich.  Little do they realize that what they’re unwittingly wishing for is enslavement.  After all, you’re extremely unlikely to ever run across a rich person who isn’t completely paranoid of losing what they’ve accumulated.

It’s surprising how many people want to come back as animals.  The vast majority of people have practically no connection whatsoever with the natural world these days beyond Instagram pics and perhaps a visit or two to the zoo in their youth.  Even if you’re talking about less exotic species, one wonders where the inspiration sprung from because most urban dwellers experience little more than pigeons in the sky – which they rarely refer to in loving terms – and practically no one in suburbia could name even two species of birds that frequent their backyards if asked.

Honestly, if I had the option, I think I would choose to be a stone. Not a small one that could be kicked around easily by whatever irritable creature came upon it – but a sizeable one in a desolate place. One would be impervious to heat and cold and never go hungry. Money would be unnecessary, thereby freeing up all sorts of valuable time which wouldn’t have to be wasted in search of it.  There would be some banality in terms of the view since one would not be able to shift one’s perspective – being rooted to a single spot.  Mortality too would be banished.  (Perhaps instead of complaining life is too short you would be complaining it is too long.) But then again as a stone there would be no motivation, let alone any capacity, to complain about anything at all.

One would sincerely hope for a very grand view indeed with a lot of change going on around it in terms of speciation, natural decomposition, and rebirth so as not to go completely mad from boredom.  Of course, I am making the rather hefty assumption that as a stone I would have a sense of consciousness that would allow me to perceive and process.  Were that to be absent in its entirety, it would be a peaceful, but certainly uneventful afterlife.  But who knows, perhaps there is a state of being in the compaction of mineral life that provides a consciousness beyond anything we have ever imagined.

Nature Beyond Capture

It is quite rare to see snowfall where I live.  So when it happens, everyone runs outside (no matter their age) and engage in the traditional rites of winter – catching flakes on your tongue, throwing a snowball (or in our case more like a golf ball) and if possible, immersing oneself totally in the experience by sledding on a cookie sheet down an embankment or rolling about in it directly making an imprint of an angel. I wonder if anyone has ever noted the irony in that when you get up from making a snow angel you invariably leave at least a trace of a puddle where you have lain and have some condensation on the back of your coat.  Perhaps it is the devil within us all that leaves its mark when we dare to imitate the formation of an angel.

In these modern times one more ritual has been added to the celebrations – whipping out your phone and taking photos of the flakes falling.  Being a bit on the old-fashioned side, I whipped out a camera instead of a phone.  The snow shower was not dense, but nevertheless the flakes falling were large.  I thought to myself it was as if several stars in the noonday sky had collided and burst into an ethereal shower to make us all pause for at least a moment and look up from our phones.

To my surprise when I went to look at my photos on the computer, I saw the landscape clearly but the flakes themselves were invisible as if I had taken a photo of nothing other than an overcast day in the neighborhood.  The speed of their fall apparently was faster than the shutter of my camera.  Thus, the memory will be mine and mine alone.  In the recesses of my mind, at some point in time I can recall it and attempt to couch it in terminology that will give someone a sense of the experience – but it will be without evidence and therefore embraceable by little more than an act of faith on the part of the recipient of the information.

Boundlessness Within Bounds – A Reflection On Water

The one element of nature that will most consistently force even the most preoccupied (or on the opposite side of the scale – absent-minded) person to stop in their tracks is water.  Some may think they can simply continue upon their intended course – but as far as I am aware there is only one person who ever managed to walk on water without skis and a boat and even that is hotly disputed by anyone not willing to swallow myth and rationalism in one indigestible gulp just because someone says faith will help you get it down.

Not to say that we haven’t given it our all with varying levels of effort at various times throughout history.  We are a conquering species by nature after all.  We can dam it, drain it, float across it in things we construct and dive into it for as long as we wish to remain immersed in its world.  But at no time in history has it been conceivable, let alone possible, to truly and utterly conquer, control and manipulate or obliterate every last drop of it present on the planet.

So, when you encounter water in its natural state – whether it be a puddle, pond, lake or ocean – you instantly recognize that it is in essence reserved space.  In most cases it appears of its own accord, at a time and place over which you have no say.  (The only exception that springs to mind would be if you poured a glass of water onto the ground leaving a small puddle.  However, since this in and of itself is an intrusive, non-organic manipulation and not a direct consequence of natural diffusion it can be ignored for purposes of our discussion here.)

Even when coming upon something as seemingly insignificant as a puddle, it is interesting to contemplate, for just a moment, on the mirror image it reflects when you pause to look down.  It’s nature’s mirror, not a human-manufactured object.  Therefore, its reflection is not just of you, but of all that surrounds you and all that is above you.  In essence it is your immediate universe –  bounded by nothing but your optical limits – which in turn reminds you that all is infinite once you cross the boundary of physical capacity (i.e. optics) and unleash the torrents of imagination into your conscious discernment and later potential reflection of the image before you.  Furthermore, upon looking within the puddle itself you can sometimes discern upon close scrutiny a micro bubble here, a ripple there indicating the life within a world in which you have no presence.  They have no idea who or what you are and they don’t care, or do they?  Now there is an interesting contemplation in and of itself.

To further extend the idea, think of how it feels to float in a body of water – for example a lake.  Close your eyes.  You no longer have any reliable sense of whether or not your feet will find a foothold should you restore your vertical presence – perhaps the lake is bottomless?  You have no sense of whether or not there is a shore that bounds the essence in which you are luxuriating.  Perhaps the world is flat and you are floating in an infinity pool in which you will always strive for, but never reach a horizon.  In short, you are at one with the world of micro-organisms whose world you have entered, floating alongside them in perfect harmony – as oblivious to their sizes and colors as they are to yours.

As Russian symbolist poets often contemplated – it is in essence a sense of boundlessness within a bounded space.  A transcendence if you will between what is and what could be from a higher, more enlightened perspective.

So, next time you’re feeling bounded to the point of suffocation glance at a puddle, the dew on a leaf or simply close your eyes and imagine floating in the ocean and luxuriate in the knowledge that a world where prejudices unfathomable and the possibilities for a matrimony of realism and imagination boundless.

The pitfalls of linguistic equality

I took a short course in a fairly new field called ecolinguistics. At first, I was pretty excited.  As a nature enthusiast, the notion of being more cognizant of incorporating more respectful, inclusive natural references into my everyday speech and mindset seemed to be a nirvana elixir that I could sip on and share with others.  But just as with most elixirs, it’s the side effects which in the end far outstrip any sense of peace, hope and happiness that you felt after the first sip.

In this case, what I began to notice was a rather negative undertone pervading an otherwise perfectly painted placid paradise.  Because alongside all the notions of incorporating thoughts of natural impact in your decision making (i.e. consumer consumption) and dialogues (i.e. how you speak about the natural world in advertising and in general story telling) there was this ever present “don’t.”  Don’t be anthropomorphic, don’t be a typical greedy consumerist, don’t have the audacity to think that you’re smarter than the ant crawling up your arm etc.  It began to feel a bit like a stick and carrot game with the stick prevailing.

Typical human behavior seems to be almost entirely viewed as being the self-centered scourge of the planet.  In part it is, to be sure.  But just as they insist you are not to make blanket assumptions about the plants, animals and other elements of the natural world, I couldn’t understand the never-ending human bashing.  Practically everything I did, said and thought was wrong – no matter how unintentional or imperceptibly faulty per their theories.

I understand the point of bringing self-awareness to environmentally destructive behaviors and non-inclusive trains of thought.  But therein lies the scary part.  Telling people to open their minds to new perceptions is a grand idea with which no one can or conceivably would argue.  Yet, telling them that everything they currently do and say is reprehensible is not only judgmental, but passes the sniff test of being on the path to totalitarianism – in baby steps to be sure, but steps nonetheless.  I’m unsure whether their efforts will lead to a better world or simply imprison me in one of their design.  Only they know their motivation, and the more frightening prospect is that the results won’t align with their intent.  Encouraging me to open a gate is a welcome invitation, so long as it isn’t to a cell that someone has built with good intentions and one set of keys.

Trees and Tragedies

In my parents lifetimes, in my lifetime and those of the generations following me – we have poured countless time, money and resources into trying to extinguish forever the flames of hate.  To have young people grow up seeing others as if looking into a mirror of common humanity, rather than as a call eliciting their worst possible inclinations towards obliteration of the unfamiliar.  Yet no matter how many times we attempt to eradicate the scourge of hate, its insidious weeds continue to sprout in plain view, in the shadows, and unnoticed even within ourselves.

I think the worst part in a sense is that we have just that – sense.  Sense enough to see and process information both in present time and in reflection.  Even then, the blindness continues to be an epidemic amongst our species.

That which has no ability to see, to contemplate, or to remember is nature itself, and it is that which will outlast all of us – both the good and the bad.  The boulders, pebbles and the like which you pass each and every day will far outlive you.  They have eternal life – no strings attached.  It’s guaranteed without them having to prostrate, profess, manipulate or cajole in the slightest.  They neither hate nor love because – at least as far as we know – the ability to do so simply isn’t there.

What if nature itself was rendered capable of passing judgment?  For all our nonsense that it has witnessed, how would it describe us in the annuals of its history?  Perhaps in a way such as the Chuvashian poet Semyon Elker (sometimes spelled Elger).  I’ll quote just a few passages for you from his work (translated by the famous Chuvashian poet Gennady Aygi):

“…the grandeur of the forest, untouched by mankind had never yet been measured in its breadth and its limits.  Two hundred years ago, even the beasts did not know it.  And the stately pine trees, two centuries old, reached up skywards, knowing only the life of the sky, and with regal grandeur they conferred together, never tiring of their lives on the face of the earth.  In their midst, in damp places, the silky, furry mosses shone intact in their purity till the depths of autumn, receiving deer’s hoofprints, and wiping them with dew… Bees, still unfamiliar with the race of men, knew only the families and tribes of flowers…The bodies and the feelings of the ancient trees here knew neither iron nor the voices of men, but even thereafter, peace was long preserved here…(then) came different people…who made of this place, this creation of nature, another world, a world open to all eyes and then too the forests heard the weeping of man.”

You often wonder if nature had sentience that was in a form we could comprehend, whether or not it would say in earnest that it knew nothing other than happiness until the advent of mankind and only then did it know tears and fear.  Some days it seems we should bow in shame before them.

Craving Irregularity

I collect sand as a hobby.  I have tiny samples from all over the world that I trade with others and like to look at under a microscope.  Recently, I was given some man-made sand that was a byproduct from a mineral processing plant.  Interestingly when I looked at it under the microscope, all of the particles were the same color and of practically identical sizes.  I looked at sample after sample with the same results.  I suddenly began to feel a certain anxiety and indefinable discomfort in the fact that all was perfect.

An urge for irregularity overcame me in a wave of desperation.  I wanted to see something misshapen, something of a slightly darker or lighter hue – or perhaps an entirely different color all together.  I searched and searched and could find nothing of what I sought in these manufactured samples.  There was nothing to discover, nothing that would surprise me, delight me, shock me.

I went back to an earlier, natural sample and was once again at ease.  A multitude of shades and shapes – not blatantly obvious – one had to be observant to notice the subtle differences in coloration and shape.   Once again, I felt in control of my psyche having wrested it from auto-pilot mode – eager to sink into the bumps of the road and lose my way once in awhile as I traversed my way through the world at large without a map, just a full and curious heart steered by a irregular mind.

Tenacity

In times of turmoil people look for either anchors to stabilize them or prophets to inspire them.  Interestingly enough, they almost always turn to one of their own – another human.  With all the mayhem on the news these days I happened to glance out my window.  There is a tiny crack in the cement outside my home in which plant has been residing for so many years now I have lost count.

No one encased it there, sealing its fate.  (After all once planted a plant has no choice but to endure its life in the same spot come what may.)  Why on earth would it have chosen this small, crowded crevice in a sea of concrete.  No neighbors, no obvious food source – hardly an idyllic Eden.    And yet there it is unto this day.  It has endured countless rain storms, scorching sun, the occasional absent minded human crushing its arms with their feet and a plethora of passing ants and others who doubtless on occasion have taken a bite.  Even if I were to pluck it and place it in a vase on my table after such a barbarous act of forced displacement, even then – provided it was given nourishment, it would bloom for me without hesitation.

Although it never says anything, the fact that it awakens every single day without fail- unfurling its leaves in the unquestioned quest to survive, whatever a new day may bring, attests to the essence of “being” in its purest form.

A Caveman’s View

There is a fascinating collection of black and white seascape photos reminiscent of the work of Rothko that were done by Japanese artist Hiroshi Sugimoto.  He said something interesting, “we have changed the land so much over time, but it is entirely possible that ancient man saw the same images of the sea as we do today.” In this sense Sugimoto felt he was connecting with our most ancient ancestors.

I am one of those people, like Sugimoto, who constantly looks for connections in the world around me.  I often wonder how old some of the huge trees in my yard are. I not only imagine what they might have “seen” but also, who might have seen them?  Did anyone from the near or even ancient past pass by these same woods?  If so, did they ever notice that unusual tree which from one base grew into three separate but equal towering mammoths that stretch high into the sky?  Did they ever wonder who came before them or who might come after them?  Did they imagine that anyone had tread this same path before?

I wonder if our most ancient ancestors, when walking about, staring at Sugimoto’s seas or sitting around the cave campfire ever wondered who came before them?  Did they know they were the “first”?  Were they? Things to ponder on your summer vacations as you sit by the sea or stare at an old tree.

Looking Through A Microscope

I dug an old microscope my father had out of the closet and set it up.  I went and collected some water from a local pond and slid it under the scope to have a look.  At first it was fascinating lifting the veil back on a world few of us ever explore.  Strange creatures with multiple feet and antennae appeared like manifestations from sci-fi novels.

The longer I gawked at the strange and unusual world beneath the scope a disturbing revelation set in.  The frequent spasms I was witnessing were the organisms gasping for breath.  I was in effect watching them writhe in agony, fighting for every last breath before being consumed by death.  A death that I had caused by meddling in a world to which I was an alien.  A world that I didn’t take the time to investigate and understand before disturbing its cocoon to satisfy my own selfish curiosity and insatiable appetite for something new to watch.

And yet even with this realization, I was still able to toss the water down the drain when I was bored and ready to do something else and simply walk away.

Trees

Scene:  While walking in my backyard I passed by a tree that has known me all my life and has likely been here centuries before me.

The larger the tree the more we tend to admire it – with age comes wisdom after all, or at least that is the prevailing lore of most societies.   One often thinks of the stories it could tell if it were capable of speech.  Many have seen centuries come and ago and have undoubtedly watched as the lives of people both great and not so much pass before them.

But for all of its outer grandeur, there are some key weaknesses that make it as vulnerable as all who roam in its shadow.  For all of its majesty and vantage points – after all it has a 360 degree field of vision that stretches for miles and miles all in a singular moment – its view never extends beyond the boundaries it reaches at maturity.  For all the centuries that it can potential survive, at some point relatively early on it will no longer gain more height.  It becomes totally reliant on a fixed perimeter, incapable of expanding its view through internal growth or travel.

As a mute it is a one way receptacle of the environment in which it dwells, incapable of even the most primitive forms of communication.  Even its physical form itself, despite all of its volume and apparent steadfastness, is under a constant barrage of threats against which it has no defense.  Insects can burrow into its inner cavities, thus rotting it from within.   Even a mild storm can twist and bend it to such an extent as to force breakage – in many cases a finality from which there is no possibility of resurrection depending on the extent of the injury.

Just another example of how even the seemingly grandest among us are just as vulnerable as we are.  Our challenges are different, but our universal aim the same – to thrive and survive within our means and to aim beyond them whenever the opportunity arises.