Promise Given
Prompt Response: Hybrid Prose Poem
All important ideas must include the trees,
the mountains, and the rivers.
Mary Oliver, Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way
Before the towering thrust of the Mountains
before they plunge into canyons that
narrow and channel and rush it along — there is The Wind.
Before the breath — for us all — of the Trees
before they forest the mountainside and
shiver their leaves to slow its progress — there is The Wind.
Before the trickle gathers more to become a torrent of River
before land and gravity direct it all the way back to the ocean
to begin the cycle once again — there is the Wind.
Before the useful tool of words
before man shapes them into Language
to explain the natural movement of air of any velocity, or to drift in circles
or to shift the prevailing opinion, or merely to confuse — there is The Wind.
An invisible, fluid, promise Given: Change. Nothing stays.
What I would like to say is that we stand on a precipice of some great Change — that every choice we make in this moment matters. What I would like to say is that a cold, sinking disquietude has a grip on the pit of my stomach — that I fear this civilization we have built, this Machine of Modernity, is an illusion of Control — and a maelstrom is coming to sweep it away. What I would like to say is that our technology, science and reason are in ultimate conflict with the limits of nature — and our dams are about to break. What I would like to say is that we made a grave error when we allowed ourselves to see humanity as something separate — we removed our context — we refused to see the forest, for the trees. What I would like to say — with all my insufficient words — is that I can explain it all.
What I believe is that we have always stood on a precipice of some great change — because change, like the wind, has always been — likewise the fear of change. What I believe is that the wisdom of the ages is held in the trees, in the mountains, in the rivers. What I believe, in my poet’s way, is that The Wind carries the voice of that wisdom — and doesn’t speak in words. What I believe is that if I am to find more of me, I must wander holy places slowly, I must linger when I am lonely, I must find my rightful place — or at least dream of it. What I believe is that I can explain nothing— instead, I must listen to The Wind.
While I have always been a reader, Mary Oliver was the first to actually inspire me to put my words to a page. Her words were so simple, yet so profound. It seemed they spoke what I felt into existence — like a catalyst. They changed me. I wanted to do that. She made it look easy. It’s not that. I’m not even close.
I started this piece months ago. It became muddled, so I left it alone. Recently however, I revisited Mary Oliver. Each time I do, I find more. This time I found more in “Leaves and Blossoms Along the Way” and I was driven back to this piece — I felt my pen itching. It felt good.
