Wear
I accompanied my granddaughter to a story telling event at the public library. The topic was the screech owl and raptors in general. The three story tellers were enthusiastic about their work rehabilitating injured raptors, returning the birds to the wild. I felt humbled in the presence of the birds which were gently removed from the transport enclosures, and shown to us. The creatures have vision 100x more acute than humans. A raptor can see the twitch of a field mouse on the ground at a great distance. When aware of a nearby predator, the bird is able to position itself motionless beside the trunk of a tree, invisible, camouflaged by the coloring of its feathers.
The world of a raptor, the bird of prey has no sense of or need of justice or of anything like what we mean by the term. Life and death, and that is all, – with an edge as clean as a steel blade. Compassion, empathy for what seems other!? This I think marks us as human.
I thought of the raptors, and this poem echoed in my mind. The echo was as if it were the crack of lightning from a not so distant, approaching storm.
Weathering Hate
by Harryette Mullen
The way, exposed to weather, a body is worn. Velvet threads begin to
wither, rapid ripened beyond the burst bloom. Vibrant strands, cut short,
fray, unweaving faded fabric. Sun-struck, rain-warped, storm-blasted,
rough-sanded in whipping wind that whittles rock.
Small, torturous fractures opened in stone where water freezes in the
pores with grains of salt. Cracks in the surface pried apart by unrelenting
pressure. With incessant freezing and thawing, shock and fatigue speed
rugged stress to ultimate breakdown. Intemperate weather, abrading
edges, gradually disintegrates resolute minerals.
A boulder, even a mountain, will wear down. So will bodies, bent and
broken under toilsome burdens, caving beneath unbearable weight, in
adverse climate, exposed to harsh elements, caustic rains.
“‘Weathering Hate’ is collected in Regaining Unconsciousness (Graywolf, 2025). The poem is inspired by the central metaphor of a hypothesis that public health researcher Arline T. Geronimus proposes in her book Weathering: The Extraordinary Stress of Ordinary Life in an Unjust Society.”
—Harryette Mullen
4 thoughts on “Wear”
If I may, I would like to add two pieces of writing. First is a passage from my book, 36 Acres, and the second is a poem written many years ago titled Descending. I believe both relate to your thoughts from today’s blog posting:
MELANCHOLY
We humans are an odd lot. We tend to interpret the world around us with our emotions and then project those same emotions back onto the world. We see the events of nature and view them in either heroic or evil terms. A brave robin protects her nest from an aggressive blue jay or a wicked coyote devours a family of defenseless ducklings. In reality, nature is neither kind nor cruel, beautiful nor ugly, it just is.
Even with this understanding fresh in my mind, there are exquisite days when I find myself walking along a woodland path only to become overwhelmed with a sadness that colors the landscape. Perhaps it is brought about by some bit of nature that reminds me of the impermanence of my journey and the tenuous hold I have on this thin band of life.
This sense of melancholy increases on days when gray light filters through the overcast sky and mute motionless air engulfs the forest. At these moments I try to remind myself that the preserve itself is not despondent, for it is only my perception of the surroundings that is transformed by self-pity and the knowledge of my own limitations.
Descending
From five miles up,
brown hardscrabble land
feigns a tranquil glamor,
as metal roofed shacks
glisten with a diamond’s fire,
and weathered remnants of
once majestic mountains,
now eaten by rain, cover the ground
like giant rough-textured sheets.
I understand how we stay aloft,
the dynamics of air on wing,
but I still wonder;
if the air grew tired
and felt enough was enough,
would the ground beckon.
Would rocks call out,
“We have been waiting for you
longer than we can remember.”
In those last few moments
I would not curse the air
for growing tired,
I am weary as well.
I would not blame the rocks
for wanting company,
they too know sorrow,
or at least I want to believe they do.
In the end, the ephemeral nature
of nature itself is revealed.
Just as rivers fill with the mud
of great mountains, inevitably
returning them to the sea,
so will the deeds of men erode.
And all that counts is now.
The last line of your verse redeems all the rest, in my opinion. And all that counts is now.
Also the words from Heraclitus echo: Everything is change, and nothing remains. Could there be a kind of peace in accepting that this is so?
Acceptance is a blessing and a curse. By accepting life as it is we can probably find peace. On the other hand by allowing life to be as it is we can become passive. All that is needed for an authoritarian to gain power is for majority to do nothing.
Perhaps “acceptance” is not equivalent to doing nothing. Attending to one’s purview of responsibility without over-reaching in order to oppose an enemy, resistance that becomes a mirror image of your opponent is the paradox that we live with. In a democracy, what does the majority want? Is it possible the majority prefers authoritarian rule, so that nothing interrupts the enjoyment of Netflix, wintering in Mexico, etc.?
I think the ultimate question must be: What do I/we want? Do we prefer “the void as our purpose, rather than be void of purpose…”? Whereas we in the West are primarily responsible for global warming it appears that we prefer the void, because that is where we are headed. Will we continue to worship at the altar of the gods of unbridled consumption and die? I’d bet on it.
Reading Nietzsche is disconcerting. Still he wrote as one who had truth by the throat.