MADE TO RISE
On the Ground Again
​
A cacophony of noise nudged its way into my rested mind, announcing superiority over the landscape. The first morning I witnessed the change, the world had fallen silent and still. The mourning of a hopeless loss emanated upward from empty ground, attaching itself to the earnest passer-by. I shed the tears that summer clouds could not. I knelt to touch a place where dead roots now lay underground, strewn about in a mess of interlocked remains. Just a few mornings before, those tree parts had pulsated through the ground, sending news of each other's needs, nurturing the complexities of the forest floor, sheltering ragged squirrels returning from shopping trips on foot. A silkworm, harnessed to a branch, dropped from the leaf of a young tree. Thousands of others made their way from branch to branch, passing wasps who danced through their morning routine, ignorant of an impending encounter with a spider’s dewy web. Below this insect infested world, a fawn whirled its neck westward to investigate the commotion caused by another rabbit hopping through the ferns, wishing to avoid contact with a snooping red tailed hawk. In the shade of gently sweeping branches, trillium opened the spiralic form of their leaves for gnats to gnaw away. Bleeding hearts dangled from arching stems. These delicate petals I once held in between two fingers would no longer express vibrant affection for the world to admire. My knees weakened as I lost control of a previously composed posture.
The second morning, my legs carried me toward the noise. My mind had already reworked the image: walking up the hill, blackberry bushes surround me, trees tower above. As I walk, I transform into a witness to the end. To the left, the same old house tucked away behind bushes. To the right, a gap in the trees. A slash in the stomach of this forest. On this day, though, the ground supported a rowdy gang of yellow machines and a monstrous white pickup truck. New rulers of the land. The soil seemed illuminated by nutrients left behind by diverse vegetation, now nowhere to be found. This health had radiated from the ground all along, hidden by the denseness of life. From that moment, the energy would fade, like a sun setting over sea. Only, no moon would rise to take its place. If only the ground could open up in agony for a moment, long enough to swallow those men. Maybe then they would realize what they had destroyed.
I stopped walking to adjust my eyes to the barren strip of land beyond the chain linked fence lining the path. Tension released between my lips and my mouth fell agape as my eyes followed dots of leftover tree stumps protruding from the brown mud, all the way up and out of sight along the opposite hillside. The sight was no less shocking upon second approach. These men equipped with exploitative machines stood straight-spined upon the scene of a mass murder. How could they be so desensitized? How could they trade in this forest for a paycheck? But of course the blame is not only their own. How we break each other apart!
In the midst of chaos undulating inside me and exhaled by the traumatized forest remains, a chorus of birdsong entered my consciousness. My thoughts shifted. How could this deeply cheerful sound come through in the aftermath of tragedy? I could see nothing but boot prints on the ground. Dazed by mental turmoil, I turned away from the dirt patch delusion of humans and walked into the familiar forest ahead, accompanied by the joyful song passing from beak to beak. The rhythm of music gradually entered the foreground in my mind, synchronizing with the sweep of my footsteps.
Soon I found myself, traveling through the woods, energized by a current within. I could have laughed aloud, immersed in a rare joy. I was surrounded, and could feel wisdom embracing me. I had been washed away from that place of death, like the other animals, into flourishing and wet wild greenery. I realized that vulnerable soil hadn’t a sense of appreciation for my denial. Sadness that had washed over me did not resonate with the windswept trees. The forest had been busy adapting to the shifted state of their world. Wildness does not muster the confidence to recover. The trees and their inhabitants live forever in the present, there is no element of hesitation, only an eternal flow of integration. The world of inevitable gain and loss of relations was natural, understandable. Those trees were chopped to death, the roots of a communal plant world pried from a network of unseen connections. And still, saplings grew taller and swayed in the morning wind, a couple feet from the bounds of destruction.