Bamboo Box

That’s the question that comes to mind when I look at this photo over Loch Lomond. This scene has everything: a wild sky, snowy peaks in the distance, a shadowed forest in the foreground, and a dark, menacing lake from which some creature is sure to rise at any moment.

Or, it’s just a nice scene to see as you drive along the shores of Loch Lomond.

That’s what I was doing, when I stopped to take this photo. The scene almost looks like something out of a movie set, but it was quite real. I know people think Ireland, England, and Scotland are damp, cold places (and they are), but they are also places full of adventurous colour– not the kind of colour you see in bright, cheery parts of the world, but the kind of colour that inspires great creativity (like that of Robert Burns).

Last night, here in Baltimore, it was stormy — quite exciting.

One things that the East Coast seems to have that was missing in Ireland and Britain is thunderstorms. We have good, crackin’ thunderstorms over here; over there, they usually only get the rain.

Still, they win on scenery — ours is nice, but it doesn’t compare.

A few years ago, I visited the Fortingall Yew — a tree growing in a small village in Scotland.  You may find it somewhat humourous to hear me say that I “visited the Fortingall Yew;” however, that was, in fact, the exact purpose of my trip to the small village of Fortingall.

This particular tree is no ordinary pine tree. It’s been around for quite a while. Scientists believe that the age of the tree is at least 2,000 years, and it may be as old as 5,000 (some more generous estimates suggest the tree may be as old as 9,000 years).

Whatever its exact age, scientists agree that this tree is the oldest living thing on the planet. I felt this warranted a special trip.

As you can see in the photograph, the tree looks fairly large; however, when you get up close, you can see that it actually seems to be two separate trees. That is because the existing trees are offshoots from the original trunk, which has decayed over the last 200 years. The orginal trunk, measured in the mid 18th century, was about 50 feet in circumference. That’s a big, fat tree. Of course, by that time, it had been slowly growing for a few thousand years.

Anything that hangs around for so long is bound to inspire its share of legends and myths. Certainly, if we go with the higher age estimates, then it’s safe to assume that many different peoples travelled by and lived around this tree, including the pre-celts (tuatha de denaan?), the celts, the picts, the scots, the romans, the vikings, and so on until the present day. One legend even suggests that no less a historical (?) figure than Pontius Pilate played in the tree’s shade as a child (this seems unlikely to me, although there is a connection).

Beyond legend, what we can say for certain is that the tree is, at least, 2,000 years old; so, for all of us who may visit the tree, the tree was around long before our births. The current offshoots are very healthy, and, barring some unnatural calamity, we can safely suggest that the tree will outlive us, as well; that is, it will be around long after we are gone.

If a person is extrememly lucky, he/she may live to be about 100 years old, give or take a decade. What will you see in your lifetime? Who will you know? How will you spend your days?

“Taxus Baccata,” the scientific name for the English Yew Tree, lives for thousands of years, unless some calamity — or someone — destroys it.

Sometimes, as I worry about the problems facing us (”us” in all of its meanings: family, friends, citizens, global community), I think about the yew tree. I think about it’s lack of consciousness, and its simple purpose to go on living. Without emotion or thought, it survives day after day, season after season, year after year. It is unconcerned, and it fully lives within its environment, fulfilling its part in the environmental chain.

I can believe in the Fortingall Yew.

On the drive to work this morning, I was reminded of this photo I took a few years ago, of the winter sun flickering through a stand of pine trees near the small town of Aviemore. This morning, I was driving along a particularly wooded section of road, and the sun was casting dappled light spots here and there — the juxtaposition of the light through the trees and the deep greens of the woods was, in a word, gorgeous.

In my own way — and the heavy emphasis here is on the “my own way” part — I worship scenes such as these.  Much of the benefit of spiritual fulfillment, I need, I derive from these scenes.  I sincerely HOPE that others, who spend their spiritual energies in devotion to one of the many, many religions,  also derive similar benefits.  I fear, however, that they do not.

I have been bothered for many years, by the constant cacaphony in the daily news about the deeds and misdeeds of the world’s religious followers.  Seemingly, it is only a small few of these followers, but when I hear about the nearly unspeakable actions taken by those who proclaim themselves to be acting in the name of some god, I know those people, nor their victims, nor those who share in the faith, derive any spiritual benefit from this association.

Years ago, my father once remarked to me that the world was deteriorating because no one believed in anything any longer.  He was, of course, decrying what he viewed as a general turning away from religion and faith.  In his view, atheism was gaining popularity, and therefore, since those who were atheists were not held to account by any god, they were free to behave as they chose.

Here we are in 2009, and, in this day, it is not the world’s atheists that we fear, but rather the world’s faithful. 

Each of us need to only spend a few minutes monitoring the news, and we will see that from the Christians to the Muslims to the Jews to the Sikhs to the Hindus to the Buddhists and so on, that most of the maiming, destroying, torturing, and killing is held firmly in the hands of a few faithful followers.   This, clearly, is not the work of any demon, but it is the work of the lords; at least, the lords in which these followers believe.

I, by contrast, believe in the natural world — a world that was here long before any people managed to develop a language, and then invent a religion to go along with it. 

I believe in the stars shining in the night sky;
I believe in the mountains standing in the clouds;
I believe in the forests of deep green that clean the air we breathe;
I believe in the snow that falls, melts, and filters down to us to become the water we drink;
I believe in the deer grazing by the highway;
I believe in the eagles riding on the winds;
I believe in the small songbirds who visit the feeder in my yard;
I believe in the glee my son feels when a rabbit darts across the grass;
I believe in his smile and laughter.

I believe in the beauty that is all around us; it is the only truth I know.

… if you could see this, everyday:

I’ve had the great fortune to live in many different places, and I have no doubt that the variety of scenery to which I have been exposed has helped shaped the person I am today.

Most notably, however, is how what I see everyday affects my outlook; that is, do I become more optomistic when I see beautiful places, and do I become more pessimistic when my surroundings are unpleasant.

A few years ago, I lived in a small town.  This particular town (Speyer) was filled with beautiful, 17th and 18th century buildings, as well as more modern structures.  It also had cobble-stone streets, a cathedral, a large public park, and clean open spaces.  In short, the townspeople had done their best to create and maintain a beautiful place. 

 While living there, I noticed that, at times, I would pause while walking down the street and think to myself, “wow - I LIVE here, I’m not just visiting.”  On days when I was feeling a little down, I noticed that if I went for a casual stroll down the main street, or took the time to have a coffee at a sidewalk café, my spirits improved. 

Now I can’t be completely certain that the effects I felt were only related to the surrounding beauty; however, I know that that had a definite partial effect — how much, I couldn’t measure.

In more recent years, I’ve development a strong enjoyment for hiking or biking — in rural settings — with my partner and son.  These outings improve my outlook on everything.  Certianly the exercise has its benefits, but when I exercise in my neighborhood, or worse, in a gym, I do not notice the same uplift in my emotional state.

From this experience, I take away the following idea: surround yourself with beauty whenever possible; it will change your life for the better.

“Silently, the morning mist is lying on the water,
captive moonlight, waiting for the dawn.”

From a lyric writing viewpoint, this is a good line. It has distinctive sensory images, and it uses natural world imagery in such a way that most English-speaking listeners can identify with the content (perhaps even the message).

When I’m trying to write poetry or lyrics, I think about the following question quite a bit: How can I use natural world imagery in a way that reaches a wide audience, BUT still keep the lyrics fresh and engaging (that is, not fall back into cliché).

One of the problems that anyone writing poetry or lyrics faces is losing the audience.  When I write, I always wonder, “are my images too obscure? Am I using content to which most listeners cannot relate? How can I make my lyrics more engaging and compelling?”

For these questions, some of the answers, certainly, lie in short-term solutions.  For example, if I knew I were going to be singing to a special group of listeners who were all concerned about a single issue, then I could write a song that used content and imagery directly related to that issue.  In this case, the listeners would be quite engaged, even if the lyrics were not that great.

For a real life example of this concept, simply listen to any song — from any era — about love.  While some songs will certainly have better lyrics than others, the subject is so broad that it has wide appeal — it’s an easy topic to use to engage a listener.

Another commonly used lyric-writing approach is the term of address; that is, (1) does the song tell a story about someone or some events, or (2) does it seek to engage the listener directly in some sort of dialogue.  Songs that take the second approach, all include uses of the words “you” and/or “your.”  Love songs, for example, frequently do this as well.  So love songs, have two possible tactics for engaging the listener.

For my own writing, however, in recent years I’ve been pondering the puzzle of engaging the listener, through use of natural world imagery, while avoiding the direct address (use of “you”).   The line quoted above, I believe, solves this puzzle.