In deep woods, the trees await us.
"Announce your presence; they know
you are here," the young Tla-o-qui-aht woman
tells us. She says the lowly yellow skunk cabbage
once saved her people, in a time of famine.
"They offered themselves to us to eat,
so we would not starve," she said.
"We all spoke the same language, back then,
animals, trees and people. Even the slug
is an important part of the whole. We take care
to respect its territory."
Now, when I walk in the forest, I can feel
the trees listening; they bend towards me.
I tell them I am here without words,
for they can feel my peaceful energy.
The moss, the ferns, the raven, the craggy spires
of the dead candelabra tree, the wind,
the mushrooms, and the burrowing owl
are all here, all aware of me,
knowing I come in peace. I wonder
how they feel when the men with
the chainsaws come. Then, I am sure,
they tremble in fear, clutch hands
with each other under the soil,
hold roots across the forest floor
so the big trees come wrenching out
of the ground like the wisdom teeth
of the planet, sap glistening like tears,
the entire forest sorrowing, sorrowing
at the grievous loss, sad because
man has forgotten that trees
are our lifeblood, has forgotten
the wild is our home.
We have forgotten to acknowledge
the wordless being of others
in which we are never alone.
Teach me to speak tree, I ask
the forest spirits. Teach me
to speak sky, to speak wind,
and the language of clouds.
With my new wild words,
I will protect you from the ones
who do not understand, and so
remain strangers, even after
all this time, upon the land.
for Brendan at earthweal: The Language of the Wild. The italicized words are from Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer.
Beautiful Sherry. I so hear you on this one. My daughter gave me a copy of Braiding Sweetgrass for christmas - been wanting to read it for years and I am not disappointed - the language and depth equally beautiful.
ReplyDelete'I tell them I am here without words,
ReplyDeletefor they can feel my peaceful energy.'
- I love this silent communion you describe. I felt this sense while walking in the woods at the weekend. If only we were all attuned to it, then we would care for our world instead of destroying it.
I'd love to speak bird and whale. Sometimes I feel that affinity that is almost speaking. I've wondered how trees feel when they cut down but then sometimes being near trees that are felled I feel this awful pain in solar plexus - I'm pretty sure it comes from the trees. Suzanne
ReplyDeleteMuch as our modern minds tell us we can't hear trees speak and we can't talk to the animal world, there is something about a heart of welcome and surrender which makes that communion easy and natural as breath. We have only to enter the forest economy of giving and receiving. Then what do we do with the business of depletion? At some point we can no longer allow our mother to be attacked with imputiny. (joke there)
ReplyDeleteThe forest has so much to teach us. There is so much to learn if only we pay attention.
ReplyDeleteI often listen to the language of nature. It comes in subtle ways. One only needs to tune into the vibrational energy.
ReplyDeleteA couple of days ago I heard the language of an eagle. I may write about it for this prompt.
I hope you are well my friend… breathe in the goodness of life and expel the negativity that breaks the heart.
Thank you for the gift of this beautiful poem.
Too many are deaf and blind to everything but money in our artificial prison of technology and isolation from the natural world. You speak eloquently for those whose language has been ignored for too long, Sherry. the trees need us--the planet needs us-to speak and to protect.Thanks for being one of those who cares about what is so vital, and so endangered.
ReplyDeleteI have a poem somewhere in which I asked trees to teach me their language--ah, Sherry, but no where near this expressing so well the beginning is silence. This, in particular, spoke to me of the NEED:
ReplyDelete" . . . so the big trees come wrenching out
of the ground like the wisdom teeth
of the planet, sap glistening like tears . . ." OUCH! We each do what we can--you on the wild shore, me on the city's rim, all of us in our poems, remembering nature is our home, our first language.