in my palm the riverstone tells me: "i have been worn down from the heart of a mountain, slept long and cold during the ice ages held my breath under millenium oceans and out from the heart of mother earth i was born now i lay here in the pristine creek washing over with water so clear you could see me during the day -- at night, confuse me for the moon's reflection. and now, as you hold me to your chest, you cannot wear me down i was made for you. left to sit, i cool to refresh you as i press against your skin and in passing, you lay me down and i am warm with your heart.
the only divide of
land and water
is the negotiating table,
with the motions
of the moon.
To be connected with the land is to find a home within the wilderness. If we always think of our surrounding ecology (for those fortunate enough to live where there is still wilderness beyond their walls, or for those who live without walls) as something to be at battle with, we will never be at peace. Yes, that’s a truism, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Ever since reading Trauma Farm, I’ve been more aware of my connection with everything. To live peacefully with the land is to accept that the Land is something we are a part of. To know our place is to know that it is our choice to settle in that location, but it is the natural ecology which will outlast our lives and choices. Like a kitten that finds the inside of your elbow as a place to sleep, we can find a place to live and thrive within our wilderness. Whether it’s the physical landscape of the country or the philosophical natural chaos from which we get our diamonds or sustenance, accepting our wilderness is key to our survival.
This article was inspired by this blog post from An Ecology of Home.