As I shared in my previous post, the presidential election results triggered a relapse into my serious depression. Thankfully, on Sunday and yesterday morning, I was able to venture out to farmland — my sanctuary — to witness the sunrise. Mother Nature always helps, but as I sat down to share those sunrises with you, I got the following notification from the Washington Post:
President-elect Donald Trump confirmed Monday that his plan for mass deportations of undocumented immigrants will involve a national emergency declaration and the military. Trump, in an early-morning post on social media, responded “TRUE!!!” to a conservative activist who said he had heard such reports.
I crawled back into bed. I don’t know what made me then immediately get out of bed — perhaps I was bored. In any event, it was time, particularly in light (literally) of what Mother Nature had offered. It was time to try to praise.
The last four lines of the poem, “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” by Adam Zagajewski:
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
The “excerpt” from this post (on the blog title page) was not really an excerpt, but a question, “How do we stand for what we believe when we are so worn out?” This post does not directly answer that question, but it can be implied that, for me, it means to continue to spend time with Mother Nature. She listens patiently and never judges.
That being said, I did have the energy to step outside my depression yesterday (seriously, a very boring place) and contacted several beloveds via phone, text or email. Not one. Not. One. is steady on their feet. Not one.
One, a devout Christian sent this: “I am going around to my circle and touching base and they are checking on me . . . adding to my anger, my rage, are Christians who supported him. I don’t know how or if I can go forward with them. I am at the end of my life and my time is even more precious. Generally, the thought among friends is to find our tribe and care for each other and to try and care for the vulnerable.”
Looking at my photos first thing this morning — 8 of the 10 were taken standing precariously on the bank of Goose Pond leaning on a trekking pole on my left side while holding my iPhone. Those 8 were taken from about the same place. The two from outside Goose Pond were also taken from the same place. I have markers that I have set up. Not to worry — they are not bright orange traffic cones. Just large sticks.
I am intrigued by sunrise light. It is kaleidoscopic and reminds me that things are never the same and will always change even when you are stuck in one place.
Here is the complete poem, “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” by Adam Zagajewski. I first read it in September 2001 when the New Yorker magazine published it in its first issue following the 9/11 attacks. I chose it purposely now that domestic terrorism is targeting and mutilating the heart of democracy.
TRY TO PRAISE THE MUTILATED WORLD
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees going nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
PRAISE
PRAYS
Two words. Spelled differently, but pronounced the same. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
The featured photo at the very top of this post (with the geese) was taken at 7:13 a.m. on Sunday morning from a field where I often photograph. The geese are everywhere. I always pause to listen: honking, squawking or yelping, the sound of a flock of geese is a quintessential sound of autumn.
Winter is coming.
I am pleased you popped out of bed and surrounded yourself with nature.
I have chosen to spend time with good friends. I refuse to listen to his anger and hate.
I sent this text to my local friends yesterday.
“I have decided to tune out, wear patchouli and smoke pot”.
I will always seek peace!
Mary—thank you for your comment and sharing how you are coping. I am embarrassed that I initially thought that patchouli was an exotic article of clothing.😐 I did, however, look it up to discover that it is an essential oil.
You go, girl.❤️
I am so grateful that you got out of bed. I am very sorry that you & so many of us have had a tough, sometimes debilitating, time this month (for some, its been many months). Nature heals. We know this, but there are times when we have to remember that something so simple, yet magnificent is ready to help anytime we need it. I’ve found, as you have, that a walk does wonders. Please, keep getting out of bed. It’s worth it – to you & all those who care (especially, me)! What would we do without your powerful sunrise pictures?!
Thank you, dear Laura. xoxo
Praise be…and thank you for bringing light once again into all the darkness of our current world. And for sharing those wonderful lines from Adam Zagajewski–lines to hang onto, along with your brilliant photography, in all the bleakness and despair surrounding our lives right now.
Your courage gives me courage, Friend! Thank you for letting me/us be a part of YOUR light that strays and vanishes and returns.
I am praying that the light of kindness, compassion and justice will overcome the darkness of bleakness and despair. I honestly don’t know how this will end, though, Carol; I mean, here on earth, in this country. Do you think it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better? That is my fear. We need each other for courage. This is a perilous time.
I’m afraid, dear Friend, that, yes, it probably will get a whole lot worse before it gets better. This is a very perilous time, and we do need each other for courage and support. Let’s continue praise and prays and believe that this current time will not have the final word.