Just a stuck-in-endless-meetings-in-a-stuffy-room favorite poem-that-takes-me-away… Off The Trail by Gary Snyder for Carole We are free to find our own way Over rocks—through the trees- Where there are no trails. The ridge and the forest Present themselves to our eyes and feet Which decide for themselves In their old learned wisdom of doing Where the wild will take us. We have Been here before. It’s more intimate somehow Than walking the paths that lay out some route That you stick to, All paths are possible, many will work, Being blocked is its own kind of pleasure, Getting through is a joy, the side-trips And detours show down logs and flowers, The deer paths straight up, the squirrel track Across, the outcroppings lead us on over. Resting on tree trunks, Stepping out on the bedrock, angling and eyeing Both making choices-now parting our ways- And later rejoin; I’m right, you’re right, We come out together. Mattake, “Pine Mushroom,” Heaves at the base of a stump. The dense matted floor Of Red Fir needles and twigs. This is wild! We laugh, wild for sure, Because no place is more than another, All places are total, And our ankles, knees, shoulders & Haunches know right where they are. Recall how the Dao De Jing puts it: the trail’s not the way. No path will get you there, we’re off the trail, You and I, and we chose it! Our trips out of doors Through the years have been practice For this ramble together, Deep in the mountains Side by side, Over rocks, through the trees. ----------------- Snyder, Gary. No Nature, Pantheon Books, New York (1992) p. 369.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Nov 2013 16:46:02 +0000
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