fences

The bear paces behind the fence at Wild Life Images [www.wildlifeimages.org- an amazing place, check it out]. Is he content? He’s healthy; he probably doesn’t remember ever experiencing a life different than this, at least not one in the wild. But… he’s still a bear. Somewhere inside of him, doesn’t some wild instinct and wisdom flow through his body? Maybe at night in slumber he dreams of life in the wild. Is he content here? Maybe not, but he’s happy--- or, it could be the opposite--- maybe he’s content but somehow unhappy. He has no pressing problems, other than the fence surrounding him and the people staring at him, but somehow, he knows he doesn’t belong there.

You tell me being content is like being perfect. Normally I agree with you, sometimes you even change what I think or believe. But I think being content is a condition that can only rarely be achieved. I will achieve it. Perfection will never happen because we will always set our standards higher than we can reach. But happiness, being content with life, if that can’t be reached, that’s terrible. That’s a winter so long that you never get to witness the green that makes you appreciate the rain. That’s a summer so long that you never get to watch the leaves change color. That’s static.

It’s not even that I’m not content. It’s not that I’m unhappy. Somewhere inside of me I know I’m meant for more. Like the instincts run through the bear and give him dreams of mountains and forests without fences, purpose runs through me. I’ve always felt it, only I’m just now giving it the chance to speak. I’m listening to the voice. I don’t know where it will lead me. There are almost unlimited possibilities. I won’t pace behind a fence all my life. I won’t be static. I will watch seasons change.

Power

I stand here looking at you sitting in that chair. Just like so many times before. How many nights have you sat there and I stood here? I’ve stood here feeling small and young, afraid, angry, bitter, hurt. Not today. Never again. I stand here with my head up, I breathe deeply, I can feel adrenaline flowing through my veins, this is a familiar situation with such a new twist that I can’t stop that rush. But externally, I remain calm. You don’t have any power over me anymore. I’m more logical than either of you. I’m mentally and emotionally more mature. I have more common sense and a much truer moral compass, mine’s pointing north, yours?

Even your sociopathic lies can’t stop me. When I was younger and tried this confrontation I couldn’t do it. Even last year he knew I couldn’t do it, but he told me that one day I may need to. I did it today. I was successful. Maybe you won’t change, but I don’t need you to. I’m done with you. I got my closure, and now, it is entirely up to me if you’ll ever get yours. I took your power. I never have to listen to your slurred words or your hatred again. I can move on and not fear returning; I don’t have to return. I don’t have to hold on to any resentment or soul crushing bitterness. I can embrace that hurt little girl. I took your power.

I still hold frustrations, there are some regrets and that hidden optimist inside of me has hope. But I have the power. I can stand tall and calm and smooth. Like when I was on that ladder. I won’t ever let you push me down again. So sit in that chair, watch me walk away with my head up. Watch me stride confidently into the future, notice I’m not limping, notice I’m not glancing back over my shoulder. You can still earn my respect. I hope you do. But I’m not placing anything more than that on it. I don’t need to respect you, I respect me.

humans and trees

I wanted to wrap my arms around her. I wanted to tell her everything will be okay. I wanted her to know I was proud of her. Instead, I said: “I’ll drive.” How could I do to her, what others have had to do for her to me? I couldn’t. As human life moves around me, nature makes more and more sense. Nature is steady. The firs standing on the hills around this town blend perfectly with the low clouds. Some would say fog, but it’s not dense like fog hearty enough to last all day. It’s light, like walking through a cloud. The sky is blue and clear but the sun’s rays do not melt the ice on the ground. Nature is full of relationships. Relationships that are full of give and take and mutual connection. I understand nature--- as best as I can, for I will never really know it--- but I don’t get humans so well. People make me feel awkward, trees make me feel confident. But every day has it’s night and so do all situations, as long as you’re willing and able to see the forest through the trees. I can stand in front of a group of people and give a speech or directions and appear smooth and capable, dozens of people have deemed me a natural leader; I can stand deep in the woods and feel slightly nervous at how helpless and unaware I am, hundreds of people are more experienced with the wild than I am. So in relationships of give and take, of cooperation, flexibility and understanding. In days with nights and sunrises and new days and sunsets and new nights. Where am I? Not with people, but not with nature. They say there’s a fine line between brilliance and insanity. I say there are different types of isolation, with a path that’s just wide enough for someone to walk in between them. And, from my experience, the walker feels invisible, but, in the never ending waves of relationships, the trees know I’m here, and human life goes on. It’s almost a sick satisfaction listening to her frustrations. Knowing them internally as my own. But somewhere, deep inside where that little girl still hides, there’s a hint of sadness. I couldn’t hug her, but when I tell you about this, I’ll hug you.

Reflections

The new light of the early morning struggles through the clouds. On either side of the faded pavement water sits still in the ditches, reflecting the sky. A perfect narrow mirror of the heavens above. The yellow dashes in the middle of the road tick past underneath the car as I drive towards the highway. The dog cries and coughs in the back. I’m simultaneously there in the car loving the beauty around me, there fearing what may happen again, and alone, with the coast range disappearing into the fog behind me, heading east towards the cascades.
Sitting in the little room with the dog I can’t help but sink into the memory of the last time and the cycle of events that were the months following that appointment. I imagine hearing the worst and bolting. Heading for the banks and trees of the McKenzie. I imagine what I will say and who I will say it to. But this is not a reflection of the past. This is now, and this is okay.

The sky is the brilliant dark turquoise right before it turns to night. The hills are dark against the sun's last light. The moon is a clear crescent, like from a story book, and the first daring stars are already shining. It is cold, in shorts I am cold; cold, not uncomfortable. The winter sky is always there when I need it most. All day it rains and is cloudy, the classic non-existent Oregon sky, but on the nights that you need stars, it clears up. It almost looks like summer. In February, when even the seasoned Pacific Northwesterner is getting hits of seasonal depression, when I find myself dreaming of warm summer nights, watching the stars reflecting on the pond, when my day was long and I feel like my problems are huge, the sky will answer me. I will go outside into the dark--- to feed the dogs, to get something from the car--- and there will be millions of stars above me. So many stars so clear that I shrink into nature. Underneath a sky like that, you feel small. It’s almost like standing next to the ocean. And, when you’re so small, your problems get even smaller.
Tonight is one of those nights, after a day of angst and emotions, in the cold dark winter, a summer sky stretches above me. And I reflect it’s peace, it’s wisdom, it’s beauty; but not as well as the ditches do. They’re a never ending mirror of life in the country. Sometimes muddy and rough and sometimes perfectly flat, reflecting a clear night with a starry sky.