Ruahine trees
The bleached bones of the tawhairauriki
reach to the heavens
beseeching
their lives spent on these forlorn
wind battered, thin soiled ridges
clinging on for sustenance and life
beseeching and moaning not for their own fate
they accept this, put your ear upon them
lean against the seemingly dead bulk
and feel the life within, the whole ridge sways
and moves as one
No, they do not bemoan their own fate
they bemoan ours
and what we so callously do to the places
we should be the closest too
they wail at how misguided, how disconnected
we have become from these truths
Look to the bones, see how they return to the earth
with such grace
They are not mournful for themselves
they mourn for us and how we will not Listen!
This is the wairua, the spirit, of the mountains.
2 comments:
I'm just an old, oxidized windbag, but I sure appreciate these feelings and how you live and write about them, Robb. There aren't many who see what you see, feel what you feel, and try to say what you say to keep the message of the song surrounding us seeable by the blessed, detached masses.
That isn't to say anything derisive toward anyone, including those who seem to ignore or actively kick against nature or ecology; rather, an acknowledgment of what you are doing.
I hear and love it. I'll keep trying to live it, as well, though you do it in a way that's difficult to live up to...
Kia ora Adam...
Good to read your voice e hoa! Your words honour me and I accept them I hope with grace. One of the voices from it seems like a long time ago now when this blogosphere was a happening place. Sometimes it now feels like my own words are just echoing down the halls of an old school now closed. No matter how I loud I shout. I am glad you were listening e hoa...
Arohanui,
Robb
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