Redwood Wisdom

Michael Guite in The Word in the Wilderness reminded me that poets are more than simply names on our bookshelves. The purpose of good poetry is to delight and instruct. First and foremost it delights,…and then it leads to truth, teaching us something worth knowing (p. 84).

Today’s Pathway Poem is by Pamela Cranston in Searching for Nova Albion (Eugene, Oregon: Resource Publications, 2019)

Why Redwoods Grow So Tall

Watch a coastal redwood
long enough, you’ll catch it
listening. It rises so high,
at first you think it is star-pulled,
winched from outer space–
solitary, detached from the cares
of lowly earthworms and sparrow cries.

But no redwood ever grows alone.

Look with eyes closed and see
how wide its root-thrust extends.
Not from a single taproot,
but from an intricate, buried web
of sturdy thatch.
Redwoods march together,
a family of giants
with arms linked together,
sharing their stories.

And not just with each other
but with raven and deer,
cougar and salmon, with dragonfly
and inchworm–even stories
of you and me. Together
our storylines climb the rings
rising up the core, and carve
a thousand trenches
in weathered bark.

A redwood grows wise
by attending to its neighbors,
then takes each story
and offers it
with upstretched hands.

It has done this so long,
its fingers
touch the fringe of heaven.

Honestly, almost every time I read this poem (aloud, of course!), it seems that something new is learned. But the first thing that caught my attention earlier this year was that single line, “But no redwood ever grows alone”, coupled with images of intermingled roots and arms.

I was reminded of how much of the good in my life comes from my friends, both personal and literary. Choosing our friends is one of the most important things we can do, whether these friends are found in immediate relationships or are the authors of significant books.

redwoods’ lesson:
no one can grow strong alone
find a few good friends

As always, you may share this blog and encourage others to follow.

Peace,
LaMon


Worth Reading Again

The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J R R Tolkien and Silence by Shusaku Endo have something in common. They are fiction books I have read at least twice. As much as I like to read, to read something more than once indicates serious engagement.

animaatjes-lord-of-the-rings-73676I read the Tolkien fantasy for the first time in the late 60s. I was in my late teens or early twenties. As I finished the last page of the final book, something was playing on my radio. I have no idea what it might have been, but for at least the next 20 years after that day, whenever I would hear a certain chord progression in a song, I was immediately transported back to Middle Earth. What was it about that book that so insinuated it into my psyche? Perhaps it was the heroism of the little faithful hobbits, who, against all odds brought down the seemingly all-powerful evil that threatened to conquer all that lay before it.

Silence is the other work of fiction that I have read more than once.  silence-by-endo

I first read it perhaps 10 years ago. I read it again just recently in anticipation of seeing the film adaptation by Martin Scorsese. Having been a missionary in Asia for 20 years, the book reminded me of the struggles many Christians–both foreign and national–have endured in order to bear witness to Jesus Christ. The heroism of the book is mixed. And there are many other issues worthy of deep meditation. It is a powerful and disturbing book.

Both books deal with what is worth suffering and dying for. Or, in the case of Sebastian Rodriguez, what is worth suffering and living for.

I would love to hear from others about fiction books you just had to read more than once.