We're about halfway through the year 2012, and there's a lot of darkness around. It is easy, while not usually pleasant, to become wrapped up in all the world's problems, in the death drive that seems to permeate so much of our culture. Sometimes, however, all it takes is a switch in perspective, a change of the frame, to be set hurtling back again to the light.
Yesterday I was fortunate enough to be reminded of this reality, at the river right outside of Philadelphia that has been my escape for the past year. In my usual spot, as the hot sun baked the river's finely gravelled shore, I swam through the cool water to the opposite bank which I had often seen but never stood on. There, partially submerged in the water, rested a tree that had fallen some time ago.
The reason for untimely the fall, as far as I could tell, was a thick collection of vines, now dead, that had wrapped tightly around the tree, spreading out its own leaves at heights the trees own had taken so many years to reach. It looked like the tree had reached the point where it could no longer support the weight of the sun-seeking vines heedless of the strain they were putting on their host. The tree gave in and fell down, down to the river, horizontal against the earth over which it once shaded from high above.
At a glance: this was a life cut short. It was the loss of a mighty tree due to a one sided relationship where one species reaped bounty without any reciprocity. Vines that may have grown all in one season carelessly brought down 70 years of growth and, unintentionally, their own way of surviving on the earth.
And yet death is not permanent in the natural world. Between the patches of slow-spreading rot, there was the bright green of new growth coming from this tree. Coming vertically up from the felled trunk were new shoots of the same species, full of promise. With a little more attention, I saw that a good number of the trees once topmost branches had against all expectation kept their foliage as well: a dark, healthy looking green taking in all the sunlight it could from its new home down by the rivers edge.
Though it had been dragged down by a greedy guest, down beyond its original nature, the tree had never ceased growing. From the fall of a single mature tree now sprang countless young tree shoots ready for their chance at life. And what's more, even the trees dead branches teemed with a new life of their own, as fungus and mold made use of what the tree gave up, and spiders wove their homes where the river's flies were abundant.
It dawned on me: Life was everywhere, and it could not be stopped. In death the light remains, both old and new. Life finds a way, and inevitably light goes forward.
We are life, and we are no exception. At times this is a truth hard felt -most of our food comes pre-packaged in super-markets, and many of us have yet to understand the real working mechanisms powering our computers, mobile phones, cars, homes -our very modes of living and being in the world. And even in this apparent disjointedness, we are nature. No matter how many layers of concrete we spread over the soil, we can never be anything less than part of the Earth.
And so, as we walk through our urban jungles, through the confusing forest that is our culture, remember that what may at a glance look like irrevocable death and darkness will inevitably reveal anew the neverending gift of life. Death is not an end, but rather the chance for a new beginning.
This is an important piece of our way forward. In every dark corner is an infinite potential for new light, and new life. When we look close enough, we see life everywhere -perhaps in forms unfamiliar, and yet life it is still. Imagine what will happen if we nurture this new, young light -if we gave it as much energy and love as we so often pour into our fights against the darkness. Imagine how, with more and more attention, this new life, this light, will grow. This is a way forward, and this is a truth that I wish to spread.
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