The fire in Notre Dame Cathedral may be a wake up call to humanity. It’s being pointed out that our natural world is figuratively, in some cases literally, going up in flames as habitat is destroyed, species go extinct, humans pollute and change the entire globe. In smaller ways we willingly destroy our own built heritage, the legacy of a past which is being discarded and stamped out at an alarming rate. We are not even educating our children properly any more; they are losing the heritage which is their birthright, the wisdom accumulated by humans over many millennia.
On my way to church at 8 a.m. today I saw people already in line waiting to be let into the Celtic Corner pub. I wonder what Saint Patrick would have made of our strange way of celebrating his life?
I am moving into history. When my aunt passed away recently it dawned on me that I’m now the oldest member of this particular branch of my family. This morning I consider what this really means and know the inexorable tide of history shall bear me away as it has taken all the others who went before. Where do we go, we scraps of flotsam drifting in and out on the tides of life? For a lifetime I’ve been asking the questions, who am I, why am I here, what’s it all about? And perhaps, like Wordsworth, am further away from answers than when I was a child. Time, now, to think about returning to the well from which I sprang.
To welcome death with open arms seems strange
and yet the slow decay of strength and wit
is horror greater to sustain than breath.
Once upon a time humans spent half their time beneath a canopy of stars. We knew them by name and understood their rhythm. Then one day we received the gift of fire. Not only did it frighten away circling predators and hold off nightmares, but so did the stars flee away and a curtain of darkness fell.
I was struck the other day by the number of different kinds of maple leaves I saw in all their magnificent fall colours blowing along the roadside. I picked a few up, I’m a bit of scavenger when it comes to Nature’s prettier droppings, thinking that I would identify them when I got home. But then I remembered I’ve packed my books, including Trees of Canada. I must have found six different kinds including Japanese maple which doesn’t really count, and the ubiquitous, prolific, invasive Norway maple. The others, which I don’t know the names of, the native species, are all different shapes, including one which is just like the one on the Canadian flag so I think it may be sugar maple.
The book of trees is just one of the hundreds I’ve packed in boxes scrounged from the liquor store in preparation for our eventual move. Already I’ve found it inconvenient, so I suppose that’s a good sign. My collection of books is a living, useful one.
A point to ponder: what is the difference between love of the land and patriotism? Is there actually any point of similarity at all?
One leads to a sense of place, a feeling of belonging, security. The other is the trigger for war, fear of the other, desire for conquest.