“Everybody should walk through an old growth redwood forest once in their life. It forever changes you.” ~ Jason, Park Ranger, Lady Bird Johnson Grove, Orick, CA
He’s right. I was here a decade ago. Being here this trip had me wondering how I’d let so many years pass since my last visit. Forests have always been appealing and comfortable to me. They feel protective and intimate, yet potentially expansive. Maybe for a borderline introvert who has learned to navigate social events, this is fitting.
Forest settings nurture my imagination—not necessarily a direct envisioning of anything, more in the sense of removing the chatter and distractions of my emotions and thinking. They enhance deep dives into my being, allowing and enabling a communion of my being beyond my supposed “self.” Perhaps that’s what makes them universally appealing. They center one’s personal psyche and re-locate “us” within the great cycle of life, not as outsiders observing it.
I’ve been in a handful of old growth woods, and happily support an organization trying to save them (Old Growth Forest Network), but the scale and age of these coastal redwoods redefines the phrase. My hand fits within the crevices and furrows of their ancient bark. How does one express the feeling of your palm resting on beings that began growing when the Roman Empire was still flourishing, 2000 years ago? In the remaining pockets of forests that have not been logged (tragically down to 5%), there are individual trees that exceed 375 feet in height. Yet it’s not about statistics or measurements.
In the years since my last trip, I more clearly understand how our culture’s insistence on naming and labelling “things,” while a useful tool to help us navigate the world, also defines, limits and diminishes all non-human life as lesser than us. It satisfies our ache to control, and turns all into discreet objects for our use and thanks to capitalism, commodities for ownership or sale. Naturally we tend to think of spans of “time” via the framework of human lives, as in years and decades. The grand beings in these forests defy all of this.
Within a few yards of wandering among these immense giants, one is enveloped and overcome by awe. These places reveal life is a dynamic system, a continuous process. They minimize the notion of individuality and emphasize relationships within the whole. Redwoods don’t thrive as individual “ornamental” specimen trees as in a typical suburban American yard (do any trees?). They require a community, an extended generational family of trees in close proximity which then sustains their robust ecosystem. They also require an ocean breezes that carry mists and fog.
Whenever old forests are clear-cut, the hillsides quickly lose their topsoil, often valleys are flooded, and ecosystems that took millennium to evolve are altered. Clearcutting and replanting by industry is not a viable “solution” as it takes centuries to regain the carbon-capturing efficiency of old growth. In essence, the vitality of the ground and systems of the region that have been thriving for thousands upon thousands of years are radically set-back. We’re spending our savings, and worse the inheritance of generations beyond our selves. Our short-term profit mindset has corrupted us and we’ve spread it across the world.
We stubbornly refuse to awaken to the falsehood of endless economic growth, squandering gifts we never earned as we selfishly rob the future.
~~~
The earth within these precious forests is fecund. The circle of life is on full display. I stood next to fallen trees with trunks taller than I can reach, that are still slowly decaying hundreds of years after they kissed the ground. It’s as if our concept of death simply doesn’t apply here. Rather, there are layers and layers of generative life unfolding, everywhere the process of being is on display. While I like to identify a particular tree here and there, staying still for even a few moments encouraged me to get beyond my naming habit, and allowed me to sense the vibrant and profound power of the whole.
And what a power! For me it’s mostly a silent presence that words can only hint at. How does one describe approaching a monumental towering living form that has a hollowed out base large enough to walk upright within, my extended arms never reaching the “interior walls” of its open heart? Emerging and climbing across the vast knobby knees of its larger-than-me roots, I wondered how many times over how many centuries (!) it was singed by flames, the internal structure stressed and strained by storms and winds, yet miraculously still flourishing, vital green growth visible in its sky-high canopy!
But here again, our words, our use of a language of subject / objects forces concepts with a certain view: the term “it” implies separated “identities” rather than the potential perspective that all things only exist in relationship to all else, that there are no things, no “its.” Language reveals and trains our thinking, and so our actions. Where does the co-mingling of the roots of one redwood with another begin and end? How can we insist on defining borders of form when the continuous exchanges of those roots with the endless networks of microscopic mycelium that nourishes both trees and soil?
How can we possibly remove humans from the threads of this tapestry? Where do we start or cease defining the boundaries between the marvel of our breath mingling with the interdependent wonder of photosynthesis, the sunlight and carbon/oxygen exchange these forests provide? All life is in process sustaining life. As most indigenous cultures more wisely frame it, all “species” are indeed our relations. When we approach the more-than-human world this way, it radically alters how we interact and relate to it.
Techno-advances won’t “solve” the environmental changes we’ve initiated. The planet will recover, but not within the scale of human lifetimes. It seems to me the only path beyond our self-made predicament is a change of heart, a humbling of our desperate arrogance, an acceptance of our kinship and responsibility within the circle of life.
Life takes on new radiance when I see names and the corresponding notion of individual identities, all our scientific classifications, as useful tools, but not as “reality.” Some may dismiss this view, eager to justify and defend our industrial wonders and many conveniences of our lifestyle (for sure I’m a recipient of our many luxuries). Yet by every measure the relatively stable world that has allowed our flourishing has entered a period of major upheaval, and the view of us as apart from “it” (as opposed to humans as an integra part within the Earth’s systems) is clearly the cause.
So I find myself obliged to ask, will I cling to this attitude? Continue to deny the deep loneliness and insecurity of our culture with the distractions of consumerism? Refuse to accept human societies have and can still exceed limits? Collapse feels so incomprehensible to our largely entitled culture, perhaps this is because we only view it as an end. Yet the 1000+ years old fallen redwoods I touched were clearly integral cogs in the wheel of life. I want to own the wisdom that accepts death, both my own, and that of modern industrialized society, similar to these forests — as an aspect within the larger-than-human dynamic, simply ever-changing manifestations of an infinite Consciousness.
I’m not certain of how to walk forward. I aim to be aware, and it seems clear major simplifications are on our shared horizon. I’m unsure what luxuries I’ll shed by choice and what will be dictated by circumstance, but it makes sense to me to begin. I can no longer embrace the attitude that has led us to this moment. Rather, as these groves so deeply and profoundly evoke, I want to walk in communion with the earth’s systems, bask in appreciation, and experience the quiet joy of awareness, while retaining a reverence for our shared roles in this mysterious and unceasing manifestation we have labeled “life.”
He’s right. I was here a decade ago. Being here this trip had me wondering how I’d let so many years pass since my last visit. Forests have always been appealing and comfortable to me. They feel protective and intimate, yet potentially expansive. Maybe for a borderline introvert who has learned to navigate social events, this is fitting.
Forest settings nurture my imagination—not necessarily a direct envisioning of anything, more in the sense of removing the chatter and distractions of my emotions and thinking. They enhance deep dives into my being, allowing and enabling a communion of my being beyond my supposed “self.” Perhaps that’s what makes them universally appealing. They center one’s personal psyche and re-locate “us” within the great cycle of life, not as outsiders observing it.
I’ve been in a handful of old growth woods, and happily support an organization trying to save them (Old Growth Forest Network), but the scale and age of these coastal redwoods redefines the phrase. My hand fits within the crevices and furrows of their ancient bark. How does one express the feeling of your palm resting on beings that began growing when the Roman Empire was still flourishing, 2000 years ago? In the remaining pockets of forests that have not been logged (tragically down to 5%), there are individual trees that exceed 375 feet in height. Yet it’s not about statistics or measurements.
In the years since my last trip, I more clearly understand how our culture’s insistence on naming and labelling “things,” while a useful tool to help us navigate the world, also defines, limits and diminishes all non-human life as lesser than us. It satisfies our ache to control, and turns all into discreet objects for our use and thanks to capitalism, commodities for ownership or sale. Naturally we tend to think of spans of “time” via the framework of human lives, as in years and decades. The grand beings in these forests defy all of this.
Within a few yards of wandering among these immense giants, one is enveloped and overcome by awe. These places reveal life is a dynamic system, a continuous process. They minimize the notion of individuality and emphasize relationships within the whole. Redwoods don’t thrive as individual “ornamental” specimen trees as in a typical suburban American yard (do any trees?). They require a community, an extended generational family of trees in close proximity which then sustains their robust ecosystem. They also require an ocean breezes that carry mists and fog.
Whenever old forests are clear-cut, the hillsides quickly lose their topsoil, often valleys are flooded, and ecosystems that took millennium to evolve are altered. Clearcutting and replanting by industry is not a viable “solution” as it takes centuries to regain the carbon-capturing efficiency of old growth. In essence, the vitality of the ground and systems of the region that have been thriving for thousands upon thousands of years are radically set-back. We’re spending our savings, and worse the inheritance of generations beyond our selves. Our short-term profit mindset has corrupted us and we’ve spread it across the world.
We stubbornly refuse to awaken to the falsehood of endless economic growth, squandering gifts we never earned as we selfishly rob the future.
~~~
The earth within these precious forests is fecund. The circle of life is on full display. I stood next to fallen trees with trunks taller than I can reach, that are still slowly decaying hundreds of years after they kissed the ground. It’s as if our concept of death simply doesn’t apply here. Rather, there are layers and layers of generative life unfolding, everywhere the process of being is on display. While I like to identify a particular tree here and there, staying still for even a few moments encouraged me to get beyond my naming habit, and allowed me to sense the vibrant and profound power of the whole.
And what a power! For me it’s mostly a silent presence that words can only hint at. How does one describe approaching a monumental towering living form that has a hollowed out base large enough to walk upright within, my extended arms never reaching the “interior walls” of its open heart? Emerging and climbing across the vast knobby knees of its larger-than-me roots, I wondered how many times over how many centuries (!) it was singed by flames, the internal structure stressed and strained by storms and winds, yet miraculously still flourishing, vital green growth visible in its sky-high canopy!
But here again, our words, our use of a language of subject / objects forces concepts with a certain view: the term “it” implies separated “identities” rather than the potential perspective that all things only exist in relationship to all else, that there are no things, no “its.” Language reveals and trains our thinking, and so our actions. Where does the co-mingling of the roots of one redwood with another begin and end? How can we insist on defining borders of form when the continuous exchanges of those roots with the endless networks of microscopic mycelium that nourishes both trees and soil?
How can we possibly remove humans from the threads of this tapestry? Where do we start or cease defining the boundaries between the marvel of our breath mingling with the interdependent wonder of photosynthesis, the sunlight and carbon/oxygen exchange these forests provide? All life is in process sustaining life. As most indigenous cultures more wisely frame it, all “species” are indeed our relations. When we approach the more-than-human world this way, it radically alters how we interact and relate to it.
Techno-advances won’t “solve” the environmental changes we’ve initiated. The planet will recover, but not within the scale of human lifetimes. It seems to me the only path beyond our self-made predicament is a change of heart, a humbling of our desperate arrogance, an acceptance of our kinship and responsibility within the circle of life.
Life takes on new radiance when I see names and the corresponding notion of individual identities, all our scientific classifications, as useful tools, but not as “reality.” Some may dismiss this view, eager to justify and defend our industrial wonders and many conveniences of our lifestyle (for sure I’m a recipient of our many luxuries). Yet by every measure the relatively stable world that has allowed our flourishing has entered a period of major upheaval, and the view of us as apart from “it” (as opposed to humans as an integra part within the Earth’s systems) is clearly the cause.
So I find myself obliged to ask, will I cling to this attitude? Continue to deny the deep loneliness and insecurity of our culture with the distractions of consumerism? Refuse to accept human societies have and can still exceed limits? Collapse feels so incomprehensible to our largely entitled culture, perhaps this is because we only view it as an end. Yet the 1000+ years old fallen redwoods I touched were clearly integral cogs in the wheel of life. I want to own the wisdom that accepts death, both my own, and that of modern industrialized society, similar to these forests — as an aspect within the larger-than-human dynamic, simply ever-changing manifestations of an infinite Consciousness.
I’m not certain of how to walk forward. I aim to be aware, and it seems clear major simplifications are on our shared horizon. I’m unsure what luxuries I’ll shed by choice and what will be dictated by circumstance, but it makes sense to me to begin. I can no longer embrace the attitude that has led us to this moment. Rather, as these groves so deeply and profoundly evoke, I want to walk in communion with the earth’s systems, bask in appreciation, and experience the quiet joy of awareness, while retaining a reverence for our shared roles in this mysterious and unceasing manifestation we have labeled “life.”
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