In the back country: A meditation on man’s relationship to nature

nature meditation 1

The seething earth, it opens up and spits us out.

This vicious child, nature never wanted us

This vicious child, a cancer burning black into its heart.

A few weeks ago I spent a weekend at Prince William Forest Park in Virginia (pictured above and below), near Quantico, where the Marine base is. Two mornings in a row, I walked into the “back country.” At least that’s what the park rangers called it. It’s an area that, if not miles, is at least many hundreds of yards away from the nearest road or any people. I realized this is not remarkable isolated, but for an urban DC-dweller, it was enough to feel profoundly alone.

There’s something remarkably cathartic about nature, especially experienced in contrast to the city or suburbia. It evokes a sort of primeval Edenic memory. I saw beauty at all levels and from all viewpoints, from the small grey moths sent aflutter from disturbed grass underfoot and the carpet-y moss and tiny flowers, all the way to the vast expanse of the reservoir separating us from Marine territory, lined with hills of deciduous trees and brush, sky, clouds, and green glittering in the water in a landscape I’d like to paint. A crane flew by, no higher than the treetops, adding the perfect touch of disruption to the ambiance of twittering and chirping and water lapping and wind dimpling the lake.

It feels welcoming, like a big collective embrace of life, warm and calming, soul-stilling. Ah yes, “be still and know,” it says. Come weary one, and find solace, be at home. The colors are bright and lively at the beginning of summer. The cleansed air speaks to how life was meant to be. It whispers that the world should be better than the urban jungle or cookie-cutter suburbia or the dilapidated cabin I’m staying in. It echoes of a home that I have yet to find. Not where I grew up, and not where I live now, but Somewhere Else. . . ideal.

nature meditation 2

I’ve always felt it, right in front of me but always just behind the next river bend in the river or beach peninsula or mountainside boulder. Camping at Hume Lake in California’s Sequoias every summer, day trips to the beach in Santa Barbara, even driving through the Mojave Desert at dusk – it tapped into some deep-set sense of beauty and belonging. I never put my finger on what it was about hiking in the Sequoias or walking along Ventura beach in the surf that made me want to adventure like the explorers of old and drink more deeply of its beauty. I still can’t, but against the backdrop of city life and my digital workplace I sense it with more volume and clarity now.

Here on the east coast, in Prince William Forest Park, the world teems with life. It slinks between the plants as insects and fungi, every square inch of the forest, it seems, is a picture of vitality. Every puddle and fallen trunk is an active ecosystem in its own right, in balance, dancing the symbiotic steps of life together. Bugs creep and buzz; occasionally I see hints of larger, warm-blooded creatures like squirrels and deer; and beneath the lakes fish glide like shadows and sometimes burst into the world in a flash of droplets to seize some hovering insect that lingered too near the water.

Yes, nature is more vibrant than even the most densely packed, active city ever could be. It is beautiful and delicate.

But it’s also vicious and vile, and I recoil from the wood’s summer awakening. For all my embrace of beauty I feel unease and alienation. “Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth,” goes the fabled curse – and also needles and fangs and stingers. A mosquito comes near my ear, and I slap at the whine. I keep a lookout for snakes – the ranger warned they had been active this year. Flip flops were a bad choice. Near stale pools of warmed rain water, mud puddles on the trail, the whining grows. I forgot bug repellent; also a bad choice. At the reservoir I lay down a towel, clearing sticks that poke into my back and scattering tiny spiders and ants in the untouched grass.

I try to read – philosophy, longform journalism, the Old Testament – but every itch and twitch and buggy sound jerks me away. Sometimes a tick really has jumped on me, the bastards. Sometimes it’s nothing. But the point is that I’m not at ease, not all the way. The spiders don’t want me. The mosquitos only want my blood. This isn’t my home.

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Our relationship has issues. Nature draws me, or perhaps a better way to put it is that I am drawn to nature – the freedom of the woods calls. But nature doesn’t want me. It flees from me. It does violence against me. So many of these creatures are designed to bite, paralyze, kill. The bugs are tormentors. I curse them here just like I curse them when they are in my house. And they’re just the beginning. I need not digress into lake water, leeches, copperheads, poison ivy.

And so here in Prince William Forest Park I find a tension in my desire for beauty. In the woods I hear whispers of home yet feel profoundly misfit – on edge, discomforted. I even fear sleep in my dilapidated cabin because there’s a mouse running around and moths bumping against the shoddy screen windows. There are urban myths about spiders crawling in your mouth as you sleep. Here they seems plausible.

Those lyrics at the beginning are from a song called “Above and Below” by The Bravery. I like what it has to say about man’s relationship to nature. The seething earth opens up and spits us out. Disease saps our lives away. If nature is our Mother, she has cast us out of the cradle. But we keep venturing in to the forest, looking for new life.

Why?

Nature doesn’t want us, but that doesn’t mean she never did. The Edenic memory is in us all. It testifies that we did belong – once upon a time. There used to be harmony. The world used to be good.

I hope to God it will be good once again.

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Film Review at RedFence: Django Unchained

My review of the film Django Unchained is up over at RedFenceProject.com:

Django Unchained, the latest from director Quentin Tarantino, self-consciously incorporates the classic tropes of a Spaghetti Western with a brash flair of action-flick attitude that refuses to fall completely into our traditional expectations for the genre. We’re familiar with the opening credits in bright yellow font, shoot-’em-up gunfights, Western territories scenery, and campy zoom-in shots at the arrival of new characters, but the final product is unlike any Western I’ve ever seen.

As a prime example, a song with hip-hop elements showed up midway through the eclectic soundtrack, which on the whole tends to draw from Western roots, but puts off a modern vibe at times. Given that the hip-hop jam played as a newly purchased batch of slaves made the long walk to “Candyland,” a plantation home, it felt oddly fitting.

Django treats the subjects of racism and slavery with a brutal yet often comedic irreverence. When Django (Jamie Foxx) and Dr. Schultz (Christoph Waltz) visit a plantation in search of the Brittle brothers, the owner tries to explain to one of his slaves that she isn’t to treat Django like a normal black slave, but he can’t bring himself to simply say that he should be treated like a white man. In another excellent scene (featuring a delightful appearance by Jonah Hill), a band of pre-KKK raiders gather before an attack, only to find that the holes in their hoods are too small to see through. The whole thing is nearly called off until their leader stubbornly demands they go through with it: “Did I say we ain’t wearing bags? It’s a raid! Who cares if you can see! Can the horses see!? That’s all that matters!” Through it all we can’t help but laugh at how sick and twisted the whole business is.

(to continue reading, please click here)

My Latest Film Reviews at RedFence

Earlier this month, in celebration of 20 years of Quentin Tarantino filmmaking, I attended the one-night theatrical screenings of Tarantino’s first two films, Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. The reviews are up on my “Wandering the Vault” blog at RedFenceProject.com.

Check out my review of Reservoir Dogs here.

And my review of Pulp Fiction.

My New Movie Blog: Wandering the Vault

As I mentioned in my earlier posts, I’ve starting writing weekly movie reviews for RedFenceProject.com. These reviews will come in three categories: Currently in Theaters, “Flicks You Might Have Missed,” and “Wandering the Vault.”

My blog, “Wandering the Vault” recently premiered. Here is the introduction so you get a good idea of where I’m coming from. I will be focusing on the classics–great and/or influential films that you should probably see sooner or later.

And what better classic to start with than a true all-time great: Casablanca! Check it out at RedFence here.

New Side Project Of Mine

I’m excited to announce that I’ve just started up a weekly Film Review Blog over at Redfence Magazine. This certainly won’t be replacing ACwords, but I’ll be sure to highlight my work there over on this blog too.

We start things off with a review of the new Bond movie, Skyfall. You can read it here at RedfenceProject.com, so check it out! I know they would appreciate the traffic (and so would I)!

A Meditation on Graduation

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

–T.S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

I’m not sure why those lines kept echoing in the back of my mind during the last several weeks of my senior year of college. Maybe I expected too much of the last year. College is a unit, a certain era of life, right? You’d think that it should have some sort of climax at the end. But such is not necessarily the case. I ended my time in school disconnected from some longtime friends, disillusioned with other friendships, working part time on a Congressman’s reelection campaign, and weary of the semester. It wasn’t party time. No festivities. Not even much joy necessarily. I took a day off to walk across a stage, and the next morning I was working. Back to the grind. Or perhaps starting the grind, which will continue the rest of my life.

That’s what I’m starting to realize. Life isn’t going to let up for me anymore. My entire paradigm of existence—the ebb and flow of semesters and breaks—has been shattered and forever lost in the past. For as long as I can remember, my life has been divided up into school during the fall and spring, and breaks during summer and over Christmas. That has a comfortable rhythm to it. I really like that life. I have no problem doing the whole studying, late night food runs, ultimate Frisbee, and living-with-my-parents-during-breaks thing. But no more. Like in the poem, the world has ended for me. Not with a glorious celebration or an emotional high, but a little breath of thankfulness, a slight pause, and just like that, it’s over. Continue reading →