Lost and Found
Here is the shame of it. We humans think we are the pinnacle of creation. Better than other animals. Better than the trees and forests. Better than the rivers and oceans and all that dwells within them.
Our self-serving comparisons don’t stop there. We impose them on our own species. Whites who think they are better than Blacks. Straight people who think they are better than gay people. Men who think they are better than women. The strong who think they’re better than the weak, the rich who think they’re better than the poor, the free who think they’re better than the imprisoned.
By better, I mean more entitled. By better, I mean more deserving.
Egoism, tribalism, and claims of supremacy are willful forms of blindness. When our eyes are open, we can see the richness of the life around us. The squirrel’s playfulness. The starling’s joy. The dolphin’s grace. The lion’s majesty. Even the puppy’s eagerness for love and attention. All of it limitless. All unspoiled.
Lately I have been hearing about trees. Trees that seem old as time itself. Trees that communicate with each other and share nutrients through underground connections. A forest, it seems, is a slow-moving community of mutual support.
The other day I heard a poem. It speaks of forests and points to more. It’s not a new poem, but it’s new to me. It’s called “Lost,” penned by David Wagoner and published in 1971. If you can spare 15 minutes, you’ll do well to listen to it being read, twice and with commentary, by the host of “Poetry Unbound.”
But first, here is the message I want to leave with you. We humans share this earth with other creatures. Each has its purpose, each has its place, and all are connected. Anyone who believes that humans are more precious than the rest of God’s creation, and anyone who believes that any person has more value than any other person, deludes themselves. Only when we grasp that reality, that equality of being, will we know what is expected of us — to look after each other, to respect life in all its forms, and to tend our one and only garden.
And now, the poem.
Lost, by David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
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You can find a beautiful reading of the poem, with commentary, here: Poetry Unbound and David Wagoner's "Lost"