Pestle in a Pounding Stone

WILD
Words and Music by Jim Robbins

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I began at dawn and reached
the dead incense cedar, its red bark
spiraling upward to a jagged,
barren point, surrounded by the high,

thin whistles of chickadees and the rapping
of woodpeckers. I must have begun
in a wet field of blue dick and mustard,
the redwing swaying on a fluorescent raceme

above the purple flower heads and fresh
green grass, or was it a high meadow
blooming with shooting stars and lupine,
where marmots scurried across the path,

the pond hundreds of feet below so clear
I could see fish drifting in sunlight.
I must have seen the crowns
of gigantic trees without knowing

what they are, above the canopy,
and eventually encountered the first
huge trunks of the grove, dwarfing me
completely. I must keep finding

a path that leads me to a leaf
or root or wing or petal connected
to everything else, making me
lose myself over and over.

WILD

   Often when exploring the woods, you can feel lost even if you know exactly where you are, mainly, I think, because you lose yourself in the frequencies of nature. You are no longer stuck in the beta brain wave, the only brain frequency, it seems, that is acceptable in modern society. The “heart beat" of Mother Earth, at 7.83 HZ, is on the border between Theta and Alpha brain waves. In other words, Mother Nature herself can induce a brain wave frequency in which one experiences tranquility, intuition, visions of spiritual symbols, and wise inner voices. I have found this to be the case over and over in my excursions into nature.
   My conscious mind often fears this shift, especially when it is about to occur. Other times, it happens without me even noticing. When the shift occurs, often I feel a profound sense of peace and a connection with everything in the world around me. I do not want to romanticize nature; living in the wild is not easy, especially if you have not been taught how to survive. But I think modern humans have a distinct advantage over our ancestors: We can cross the border between one order of existence and another whenever we please. In some places, like Fresno, CA, you can cross the border into nature in less than an hour, and continue, if you choose, to head deeper and deeper into the wild.
   Over the past thirty years, my wife and I have taken advantage of the opportunity to experience many different ecosystems. For many years, we celebrated the natural world by pointing out and admiring and praising its living beings, from its smallest flowers to its largest trees. We didn’t mind being dwarfed by a mountain peak or a gigantic tree; we reveled in the sublime.
   My wife enjoyed singing “Wild” even though it is not easy to sing. My wife shared with me most of the experiences I describe in the song. One of our most sublime experiences occurred when we were hiking in a high forest and suddenly encountered a grove of giant sequoia trees that we had not expected to find. Each sequoia, as I say in the song, dwarfed us completely. When another creature makes you feel miniscule in comparison, you cannot help but appreciate “the other.” Once you've made a connection with any other creature, even the smallest creatures seem mysterious and magical.
   I have many vivid memories of the smaller creatures: a marmot running across the path, or a redwing blackbird perched on a mustard plant, or a kingsnake in the grass, or a turtle on a river bank. Sometimes my wife and I encountered a stunning array of wildflowers, and sometimes one bird was enough to knock our socks off. The different ecosystems were never the same from one day to the next, and we were never disappointed.
   Somewhere along the line, my wife and I stopped crossing the border into otherness, to the detriment of our marriage. She got so bogged down by work, and I became to fatigued by a chronic illness that we no longer went out into nature. Eventually we stopped appreciating each other.