Dreaming of Past Lives and Resilience in the Face of Precarity
Dreaming of Past Lives in the Forest
Memories often surface where the land and water meet. Things are not literal and everything seems more layered. Nothing is fixed and as Heraclitus wrote, “You can never step in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and you are not the same man” (or in my case, woman). Since Helene hit our area on September 27, all of us here in Western North Carolina have seen signs of destruction whenever we open our eyes–even now, almost three months after that fateful weather event. And yet, there is still a lot of life left too. I often wonder what the trees see and feel, and if they are aware of the fallen ones and wonder why they have been spared as human’s often wonder when others perish and they live. Do trees experience survivor’s guilt, or is not concerning themselves with this a blessing they have been given since their knowledge is stored through chemical signals, in mycorrhizae, and from the DNA passed down in the soil. Is intuitive knowledge less of a threat to sanity?
Last week, I was walking with my dog and one of my children on a trail near our home. We came to Stella’s Creek off the Rhododendron Trail in an area that is very close to my heart. The rhododendrons are wonderful at holding the soil in place, so there was less destruction here. There hadn’t been any rain in a while and the creek was very still. It was a partially overcast day–enough light remained to cast a golden hue on the water and the reflections and organic matter on the surface of the creek merged seamless into an interconnected web. As I sat there studying the surface of the water and all it had to offer, memories of how dense our forests were before the storm welled up in me. It was as if I could see all all the past lives of neighbouring trees in all their glory before they were snuffed out. So often we fail to see the interconnections between all of life, because the light is too bright or its too dim, or the connections are beneath the surface, or we have blinders on and our eyes are clouded.
Fallen Trees with Ferns and New Vegetation
My mother always had a Pollyanna attitude towards life. She was aware of the dark side of the world, but she chose to believe in the positive–even after she suffered a stroke. Nothing was going to keep her down and she looked out for humble manifestations of life that kept reaching for the light. They brought her so much joy, even after her world was closing in. Now many of us feel that darkness is on the horizon and that a lot of life will be extinguished on our watch, but no matter happens ferns, fungi, bacteria, algae and so many life forms are going to keep holding on or rising from the ashes. All is not lost. No matter how bleak things may seem at time, life has a tendency to want to survive. It’s programmed into the DNA of all living beings. And life does not perpetuate itself by sinking into darkness. It keeps its species and others going by angling and reaching for light, being part of ecosystems, and cooperating in communities. When I first saw this scene in the Bent Creek Experimental Forest, the destruction jumped out at me, and then I looked closer…
Life and Death in Balance on a Log
On an old log, beneath all the recent destruction and downed trees, so much life had already taken purchase. The fungi were turning the nutrients of the dead log into energy for the forest, and ferns, mosses, and other plants were proliferating, even as the late fall weather set in. This gave me so much hope and reminded me that our perspective has so much to do with whether we feel hopeful or we fall into despair. Yes, a lot of negative things may befall our environment in the coming years, and I’m not saying we shouldn’t do everything in our power to stand up for nature’s rights, but nature is also incredibly resilient. It will not give up unless some cataclysmic event occurs that makes life on this planet impossible. I choose to follow nature’s example and do my best to help my community and the natural areas around me. Our world is precarious and beautiful and destroyed and full of life and one chaotic mess in which the mayhem is the ground upon which hope can spring forth.
New Beginnings, a Path Cut Through Downed Trees
As the sun set and darkness descended, we had to find out way through the ever darkening forest to our car. Volunteers had cut paths through the downed trees, so hikers and cyclists could still traverse the forest. I realized it was up to me whether I looked at the destruction or whether I focused on pathways to new beginnings. Sadly, our species often has to hit bottom before we change our ways. But there is hope, even in hopeless times–even if we really are past the tipping point towards a sixth extinction. It just takes one person to blaze a new trail forward and to acknowledge that there could be a brighter future tomorrow if we open our eyes to what is happening and take the first steps to cut through the detritus and find our way to a place where we can see new horizons.
Leaning Tree Canopy at Dusk
Sometimes it feels too difficult to keep standing tall, but when we look out for each other we can hold each other up. We can bask in the last golden rays and take in all the light that remains. We can celebrate each breath we take, even when we aren’t sure how many more we will be gifted with.
Cane Creek Reflections at Dusk,Memories of What Was
The photograph above was taken on a section of the creek near my house. The whole creek has been devastated. Banks have been gouged and cars, trucks, cargo containers, giant propane tanks, farm buildings, culverts, and untold amounts of other detritus have been washed down river and left until some later date when more pressing emergencies, like finding shelter for people left homeless, have been attended to. I’d been photographing destruction up and down the creek when I realized the sun was setting and stopped on a small bridge. Instead of focusing on all the harm before me, I allowed myself the gift of stopping down my vision to the reflections and the pattern of the rocks. Yes, there are pieces of wood in the stream, but they don’t seem as menacing in this small scale. The reflections are of trees that still exist, but to me they felt like ghosts of all the trees we’ve lost. A sense of peace coupled with nostalgia came over me. Heading into the New Year, many of us will miss things we thought we had and directions we thought we were moving in, but the energy behind all of what existed has not entirely vanished. Breathe in deeply. Love your families and your surroundings, damaged or not. There is still so much life to celebrate. I am so grateful for nature, and my friends, both in the art world and from other walks of life, who have helped and continue to help me keep my own hope alive. We can and we must survive together for our allotted time. Life is so precious and such a gift.