Nature and the fragility of human life

June 26, 2017

The Wind took up the Northern Things

Winds of change overtake us every day. Natural and unnatural disasters intrude. Emily Dickinson invites us to take a closer look. My comments follow.

The Wind took up the Northern Things
And piled them in the south –
Then gave the East unto the West
And opening his mouth

The four Divisions of the Earth
Did make as to devour
While everything to corners slunk
Behind the awful power –

The Wind – unto his Chambers went
And nature ventured out –
Her subjects scattered into place
Her systems ranged about

Again the smoke from Dwellings rose
The Day abroad was heard –
How intimate, a Tempest past
The Transport of the Bird –

c. 1868

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

The calm before a storm is nothing compared to the calm after a storm. Wind, dust, earthquakes, locusts, famine, fire, floods. Devastating, destructive, unpredictable. Then it’s over. Deadly silent. Until nature ventures out, surveys the damage and begins reclaiming her rhythms, colors, textures and stunning beauty.

There’s nothing romantic about the destructive forces of nature. No one who has survived their fury can forget the terror. Or the people, animals, natural resources and futures gone or changed forever.

Nonetheless, I hear Emily inviting us to consider the other side of the storm. What happens following unpredictable upheaval? What happens when everything is different and nothing can be taken for granted?

Healing and rebirth don’t happen overnight. Nature will take its time just as it always has. We can count on her subjects and systems doing their thing, even though everything will be different, changed in some way.

As for us, life changes immediately in the aftermath of major upheaval. Belongings and people we took for granted or undervalued yesterday are suddenly precious. Whether missing or found against all odds, each person and each item becomes the subject of conversation, tears and thoughts shared around fireplaces. Personal and intimate.

This everyday hearth fire, unlike a firestorm, warms our hearts. We’re not alone. A bird sings. Was it blown here by the storm? I don’t know. Still, its simple song says I’m not forgotten, even though my small world just got turned upside down.

I hear in Emily’s poem an invitation to think about the value of human life as well as the value of our planet. Both seem under siege right now. Not just by politicians or corporations, but by people such as you and I. I don’t have answers. I do, however, have hope that we’ll wake up before it’s too late.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 June 2017
Response to WordPress Prompt: Local

5 Comments

June 14, 2017

punctured from within

The photo above haunts me. Every time I look at it, I imagine us in the context of nature’s beautiful yet unpredictable fury. This is Indonesia’s Mt. Bromo. Tourists and local visitors gather around the Sea of Sand near the heart of a volcano. Steam makes its way through the upper crust and into the atmosphere.

The volcano itself is not shown in this photo. The volcano is live, though not with regular predictability. Still, its strange power draws people to it.

I can’t help feeling I’m an onlooker here in the USA to an unpredictable volcano that’s eroding our nation and our planet, with spill-over to other nations. Sometimes via spectacular eruptions. More often via mesmerizing, self-destructive behavior.

We’re being sold to the highest bidder, and our planet is grieving. As am I.

Seeping wounds drip into the atmosphere. Contempt for us and for the environment spills out. Are they signs of a future meltdown?

The sad outcomes of inhumane legislation and environmental degradation cannot be undone. The fabric of society and this globe are being punctured from within and without.

I won’t sit idly by, watching the growing head of steam. Nor will I deny its destructive power. Especially the power to destroy our planet and us in return for ill-gotten gains.

No solutions here. Just a commitment not to look the other way or sit idly by waiting for the next eruption.