It's been quite the last three years, hasn't it? So many of us have endured such great sorrow, anguish, pain, and loss during the pandemic. We've also experienced great joy, unexpected happiness, and surprising opportunities. Our existence is never simply good or bad, nor are people all good or all bad. I suppose that's the beauty and the heartbreak of humanity. With the WHO and the White House now declaring that the pandemic is over, it seems apt to acknowledge an inflection point in our collective history. People are most surely still getting sick (77,000+ a day by some estimates) and people are surely still dying, but for most of us, a sense of some normalcy has returned in our daily lives. Our time is no longer spent remembering to pack a mask, schedule our next vaccination, and overthink our every move based on risk to ourselves and others.
Amidst the often unrelenting noise around us, I always take refuge in the woods. I'm not a religious person in the organized sense, but my time in the woods, especially the many hours I spend running every weekend, does feel like a religious experience in some regards. It is a meditative process that allows me to silence the constant chatter around me and block out the insignificant demands on my time and attention. Perhaps that is why I find this poem, by David Wagoner, so beautiful.
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
For a few brief moments, the pandemic did give us the gift of slowing down, cutting out the excess noise, and just listening. So many of the extra strains in our lives were eliminated and we were in many instances able to focus on those things that mattered most to us. We were able to reconnect with family members. We were able to voice our anger and frustration amidst a rekindled social justice movement. We were able to ask what really mattered, and given the space to eliminate those things that didn't matter.
The pandemic may now be "over", but the imprint it left on our souls remains. Amidst the calls to return to "normal", as if "normal" was actually working well for many of us, I hope we remember to take a step back, to breath, and to listen. Wherever your "forest" might be, I hope you continue to stand still, breath, and listen. Give that peace the opportunity to find you.