Monday, 24 October 2011

The Peace of Wild Things

The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry 

I was just browsing some of my favourite sites and I visited Keri Smith - an artist, writer, person whom I admire.  I hadn't visited her lately (I don't mean really visited but cyber visited), anyway she had posted a poem by Wendell Berry.  I liked the poem and never having heard of the poet I looked him up and he sounds like a very interesting man (and a cool dude).  Next I looked up some of his poems and this title caught my eye.  I really like it and can relate to the poem.  That is how I feel when I am down at the river.

Here are some quotes of his (from here)

“One of the most important resources that a garden makes available for use, is the gardener's own body. A garden gives the body the dignity of working in its own support. It is a way of rejoining the human race.”


“You can best serve civilization by being against what usually passes for it.”

“The passive American consumer, sitting down to a meal of pre-prepared food, confronts inert, anonymous substances that have been processed, dyed, breaded, sauced, gravied, ground, pulped, strained, blended, prettified, and sanitized beyond resemblance to any part of any creature that ever lived. The products of nature and agriculture have been made, to all appearances, the products of industry. Both eater and eaten are thus in exile from biological reality.”

“How joyful to be together, alone as when we first were joined in our little house by the river long ago, except that now we know each other, as we did not then; and now instead of two stories fumbling to meet, we belong to one story that the two, joining, made. And now we touch each other with the tenderness of mortals, who know themselves...”

“Do unto those downstream as you would have those upstream do unto you.”

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