L.M. Browning's Blog, page 25

The Sacred | A Poem

One reflective night in February of 2009, at the age of 26, I experienced an evolution in my writing. Sitting at my desk one evening I wrote a poem entitled: The Sacred. This poem was unlike any I had ever written before—it was clear, it was intense and it was approachable. At the end of the night, when the poem was complete, I knew I had penned something that went beyond a personal confession to be jotted down in my journal. I had written the first pages of a larger collection that, unlike other works I had written, actually had a chance at being published.

That night I felt the weight of the moment, which is unusual, as we so often cannot appreciate life-changing moments as they occur. At this point in my life I hadn't been published yet. Up until this point I had been a writer struggling to get a foot in the door of the industry; working in a form and on a subject not readily embraced by the mainstream. However, The Sacred marked the beginning of a fruitful time. Trembling, I worried that this new evolution might not "stick"—that perhaps it was a fleeting moment of clarity bound to pass. I told myself: The Sacred came out so well, how could I ever top this?  What I didn't realize was this poem was only the crest of a large wave of creativity about to break upon my life. Over the next eight weeks I wrote the first drafts of what eventually would become Ruminations at Twilight and Oak Wise. By summer the collections were finished and, following a series of synchronous events that I still cannot fully explain, by autumn of 2009 I had been signed for a 3-book poetry deal with Little Red Tree Publishing.

In 2010 The Sacred was nominated for the 2010 Pushcart Prize. But accolades aside, this poem will always be dear to me because as it was put down to paper my small world contracted and the narrow horizon widened.

Below I have posted The Sacred in its entirety. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

The Sacred    

By: L.M. Browning

Excerpt from Ruminations at Twilight: Poetry Exploring the Sacred

{This poem was nominated for the 2010 Pushcart Prize.}

 

I.

The Destructive Coup of Mankind

 

You placed yourself in all that you created.

You lived within the majesty of the world we uprooted.

…in the mountains we hollowed out.

…in the rushing rivers we dammed.

…in the old wood forests we burned.

…in the graceful beasts we hunted to extinction.

…in the soul you gave us,

which we were so eager to reshape

and have so carelessly guarded the purity of.

 

We destroyed you

and now we damn you for forsaking us.

We hid you

and now we demand to know

why you have made yourself illusive.

We renounced you

and now accuse you of turning your back on us.

We left behind the simple ways you taught us

and now ask to know why

we must live in a world without meaning.

 

Always demanding more of you we say, "Speak!"

You shout to us with all your might,

from across the divide of our disbelief,

coming to us as a faint whisper and we say,

"Not enough. —Appear."

You come unto us in your shapeless form

—a being woven from the fibers of spiri

invisible to the doubting eye,

luminous to the believing—

and, only seeing a vague shadow of you,

we dismiss you as a figment of our own longing.

 

You ever-dwell within and around;

while we are ever-asking when you shall appear.

You have made it so the river of your consciousness

flows through our very heart.

Yet we feel that we have been neglected

and left to wander without tether or guide.

 

We have sought you out for millenniums on end,

you—oh power beyond us.

Yet this next generation,

who shall harness the genome,

will leave behind their need for you;

for one does not feel the need

to seek out the greater power

if one perceives themselves to be greater still.

 

One will not seek out the deeper workings

if one presumes to already understand them.

One does not feel the need

to beg for a miracle from a god

if one believes they can simply pay another man

to be their savior.

 

The god of the ancestors will be left behind

as man finally assumes the role himself.

And I am left wondering if,

after the mobs who carved the idols of you disperse

—if after they put down the gilded images of you—

will those of us who stay,

finally come to see your true face?

 

If, once the mobs stop force-feeding

all peoples the confining doctrine,

might we not at last be able to hear your actual words?

I wonder if, after the doors are closed on the theatrical mass,

will those of us who still long to find you

once again feel that pull to return to the ancient wood

or stand upon the shore's edge,

where man's spirituality began

and find you there, in those places

where the veil between worlds is thin?

 

As the frenzy and fanaticism dies,

religion is left behind

and the new age

of man's own perceived omnipotence begins,

will those of us who choose not to follow

finally go back to our roots?

While the others begin the pending descent

will we who remain go into the past to secure a future?

 

I know I will.

 

For I know that what we need to be complete,

is not something that we can invent

but rather is something we must resurrect.

…it is not something that must be discovered,

but rather rediscovered.

II.

The Modern Ignorance of the Ancient Wisdom

 

We shall not be able to heal

the ailing soul with synthetics.

Therefore,

no matter the medicines made to

treat the symptoms of the body,

humanity shall continue to decline.

 

Yet we need not fear.

What we need to heal ourselves still endures.

It flourished once before, in the eras past—

before the great books were written

and the robes of priesthood were woven—

when it was man and woman

and the other whom dwelt beyond but near.

 

The savage in fur and buckskin,

who had naught but his fire

and his tools made of bone,

was wise enough to see

the sacredness of the world around him.

 

He recognized the magic

that lie in the movement of stars and planets,

in the ebb and flow of the tide,

in the waxing and waning of the moon,

in the miracle of the emerging seed

and the nourishing bounty to follow.

 

Yet the first thing we did

to try to establish our modern intelligence

was to explain your magic as science.

We declared your wonders

 to be ordinary.

We took away your power

and gave it to the molecules of matter and energy.

We drained the fathomless ocean of the unknown

and founded the shallow world.

 

We dismissed the cave-dweller

who awed at the stars as simple-minded.

We declared the great mystery solved.

We emptied ourselves of belief,

and now we despair at the hollowness of life.

 

However, I can go no further.

I can follow no more the misguided.

 

I must part from the others and go back

to the place where we left you.

I am coming home to light the cold hearth.

I am coming home to till the overgrown fields.

I am coming home to you;

where I shall ask you, oh ancient one

—mother and father to all creatures—

to take me back in.

 

III.

The Human Face Encased Within the Stone Idol

 

We made you a god.

We gave you the throne and crown

in our attempt to understand

what it is to be all-powerful.

We likened you to a lord of men

—a ruler with free reign—

for that was our idea of the omnipotent Being.

 

However, you were never that, were you.

 

We imagined you in domed halls of marble,

the silver bearded judge and monarch—

commander of angels,

mover of worlds,

weaver of souls.

But that was never where you were.

…that was never what you were.

Our feeble minds,

which held such wrong ideas of power,

could never comprehend what you truly are.

 

Yes, oh primordial power, you exist

but we have not the eyes to see you.

 

You—the force from which we sprung—

are a Being that we cannot fathom.

It is not your absence

that keeps us from seeing you,

it is our own blindness.

For you are there,

we simply have not

the awareness to recognize you.

 

Throughout our existence we have sought you,

all the while thinking you to be one person,

when in fact you are another.

 

And in our vain attempts to define you

we have only maimed you.

In our efforts to bring ourselves closer to you,

we have only brought ourselves further away.

Now we are faced, not only with opening our minds

but also with clearing them;

for we cannot come to understand what you truly are,

until we find a way to let go of the past forms we gave to you.

 

I shall mourn the myth that dies;

nevertheless I shall let that myth go,

for I do not wish to cling to what is false.

I wish to embrace what is genuine.

 

I turn away from the mural,

that I might one day gaze upon your true form.

 

I stop reciting the mantras of contradictory doctrine,

that I might feel your voice flow through me

and we may be able to have a conversation.

 

♦

 

You are not a body to be embraced,

you are a deep force to be delved into.

Meeting you is not done with a shaking of hands

but an entwining of spirits.

Hearing you is not done through opening our ears

 but opening our heart.

 

In attuning ourselves to hear the unspoken;

in adjusting our sight to see the unseen

and in sharpening our senses to detect the imperceptible,

we begin to recognize that you are always here with us.

Remaking the pathways of our mind,

which demand explanation

before it shall consider the possibility of….

We shall free ourselves to understand your existence

and the reality you work off of,

which is based upon the one truth:

that love—you—

is capable of all things.

 

IV.

The Enduring Truth Underneath the Aged Lie

 

You—deep river of purifying, nourishing waters.

You—wind that carries whispers of other worlds.

You—great solace from the emptiness we have made.

I am in need of you.

 

You—whose body is woven

with threads of coursing spirit,

I have seen you emerge from the backdrop

when the dawning light hits you,

highlighting the features

of your invisible face.

 

Walking through the mists,

I feel the drapes and folds

of the robes you wear,

as you envelope me.

In the warm caress of the clear light

shining upon my face

I feel the heat from your body.

 

You—greatest yet humblest force—

you dwell contently in the background.

While we have proclaimed our might you,

in your modesty,

have continued to hold all life in balance.

 

You—encircling, penetrating presence—

you are the most intense being, yet never overbearing;

the most powerful, yet never dominating;

the wisest, yet without a trace of arrogance about you.

Show me your ways, for I wish to be as you are.

 

You—whose presence is so powerful—

you hold gravity over my entire being,

just as the sun and moon do over the ocean.

When I feel you pull away my soul recedes

and when I feel you come near the tide floods in

and depth returns.

 

Yet you never pull away, do you.

It is always I who leaves…

I who allows myself

to be taken away by that other current

—swept from you—

pulled back into the shallows,

to be beached upon the barren world

we, mankind, have created.

V.

The Acts That Reveal the Unseen

 

What we create, reflects what lies within us.

You—venerable, learned teacher—you knew this.

 

So you went forward slowly,

growing until you were ready

and then you brought forth the Earth from your soul—

a creation which shows the beauty of your inner-self.

While we, in our haste and greed,

built a world upon your Earth

that reflects our ugliness and arrogance.

 

Show us our beauty, great mirror.

Let us look through your ancient lens

and see the Earth as you do,

that we might pause in solemn respect

and not thoughtlessly destroy the perfection

you so painstakingly brought forth.

 

While others seek dominion over the Earth, know this:

I do not wish to create my own world;

I wish only to be free to explore every depth of yours.

 

I would be forever content

to dwell in the vastness of your soul.

Wandering through the many rooms

within your grand house.

To put away the endeavors of concrete and steel,

and lay my head in the groves of thick grass,

at the bases of the elder trees,

beneath the vaulted loft of the flowering branches.

 

Gazing upon each bloom,

beholding each vista,

watching each living creature,

all the while knowing that as I do

I am looking upon the different sides of you.

 

You, whose soul is the prism that,

when the light of the sun passes through,

creates the rainbow.

I wish to pass myself through you,

that I may see the multicolored hues

 that compose the fiber of my being.

 

I wish to leave behind

this black and white world of sharp angles

that we created in our narrowness

and step into the vibrant world of flowing contours,

which you created in your boundlessness.

 

VI.

To Find Who Was Lost

 

Are you there oh silent one,

listening to my pleas?

Are you here with me

as I mutter in the darkness?

 

How I wish for you to take form beside me.

While, all along, you sit beside me wishing for me

to be able to see that you already have.

 

Will this ever end?

Will this wall that lies between us

ever come down?

I do not know what creates it.

I do not think it is my disbelief;

for I am here reaching for you—

whom I know is there.

 

Tell me knowledgeable one:

What makes the unseen, unseeable?

Is it something in its nature

or something in ours?

Why would the creation

not be able to see the creator?

Why would the offspring of the force,

not be able to see its source?

 

We have tried to relate to you

by giving you our own image.

We gave you the image of the silver bearded man,

that we might have a face for the presence

we have sensed just beyond

and so ardently sought to know.

But, perhaps you are not to be found in body.

 

You gave us the vessel

in which to hold our being woven of spirit.

But perhaps, you desired no such house for your own being.

Choosing instead to keep yourself in free flowing spirit,

ever-migrating through the channels of the unseen,

that you might be with all of us at once.

 

If we are to find you

we must look for what a being is

when out of its body.

If we are to depict you,

we must draw what we are

when removed from this vessel.

 

To find the part of you that is within us,

we must first look upon our true form.

To find the family resemblance

we must look in the mirror that reflects the internal—

look beyond the features of the body,

to the face of the being within.

It is there—beyond the surface—

that we shall see the form you take.

It is there that we shall see what it is you truly are.

And it is then that we shall know

who and what we have always been.

 

It is then that we shall realize,

that to find something or someone

there is a superficial layer

that must first be peeled back.

It is then that we shall appreciate

the life that dwells beneath and within.

 

And when at last we do this,

the world you created shall open to us

—the wall will fall away—

and we each shall wake to find you sitting beside us;

dwelling in that part of the world

we left long ago to pursue other ambitions,

where you have remained in constant vigil waiting for us

—your lost family—to return.

 

 

Ruminations at Twilight is an intimate version of the archetypi­cal prodigal child story, transcended from its limited catholic param­eters to become a story of humanity itself. The book is divided into two sections. In the first section we read the story of the child's awakening to their betrayal of self and the betrayal of the cherished principles handed down to them by their beloved parents. These poems are an unfil­tered record of one's fearless turning within, to confront the wrongs they have committed against their better selves and the sacredness of this world. In these pages there is a difficult coming to terms with the poor choices one can make; the poems grapple with the shame, guilt and remorse that one bears after committing such acts, and ultimately meditates on the internal resolution that rises, spurring one to set out on a search for forgiveness.

In the second section, the story of the prodigal child goes forward still as, after awakening to their own betrayal of Self, the child awakens to the greater betrayal of humanity—in terms of our betraying what it is to be human. After returning home to ask for forgive­ness from their father and mother the child sets out to reconcile and reconnect with the Divine Father and the Mother Earth, both of whom were left scarred and betrayed by humanity's detrimental modern ambitions.

Asserting that the sacred lives in what is ordinary and the Di­vine is found amongst the green of nature, the poems within Rumi­nations at Twilight bring a message of appreciation for the worth of what surrounds us. Relevant, insightful, candid and revealing, these verses give a unique perspective on the age-old questions. The story told takes place on an intimate scale yet at the same time a world-wide scale; for within this story of one individual's realization and redemp­tion we are told that of all humanity's.

 

Praise for Ruminations at Twilight

"L.M. Browning's religious fervor reminds one of Emily Dickinson's in its intensity and unorthodoxy: it bypasses dogma to reach the heart of the divine."  -Rennie McQuilkin, author of The Weathering (Winner of the Connecticut Book Award).

—

"Reading Ruminations at Twilight is like tugging on the loose string-end of the great ball of twine that is our human condition. One must be brave to take up such a journey. One must be willing to "see", Browning sees knows, and offers a much-needed vision to the rest of us. These poems guide us through the terrain of the "common wound" [our disconnection from the divine, the earth, each other, ourselves] and carry us into a place of healing, anticipation and realization of the prospect of being our fullest selves in a torn world that needs us to be exactly that." - Frank Owen, Bodhiyatra Poetry

—

"Ruminations at Twilight is a powerful cry of yearning for the sacred. These lines of poetry are Browning's fearless entry into the global conversation; a heartfelt plea on behalf of the sacred Earth whose words run like rivers into the Great Watershed of the Earth's dreaming. May her poetry inspire your own plunge into the currents." - Jason Kirkey, author of The Salmon in the Spring (*Winner of the IPPY Book Award / Mind-Body-Spirit Category)

 

Buy a Signed Edition in Our Bookstore

 

 

 

Interview with Naturalist Don Hudson

Each year Hiraeth Press donates 1% of its annual profits to an eco-charity. Our 2011 we lent our support to the Sierra Club. This year, in honor of Border Crossings: Walking the Haiku Path on the International Appalachian Trail by Ian Marshall, we have chosen the International Appalachian Trail as the 2012 recipient.

Most of you are familiar with the Appalachian Trail or the "AT" as it is known, which runs from Springer Mountain, Georgia north through fourteen states to Mount Katahdin in Baxter State Park, Maine; roughly 2,180 miles in all. The lesser-known sister trail to the AT is the International Appalachian Trail/ Sentier International des Appalaches or (IAT/SIA). The IAT picks up at Mount Katahdin and extends northward winding its way to Crow Head in Newfoundland; adding an additional 1800 miles of hiking trails as it follows the remainder of the Appalachian Mountains in North American.

Many believe that the Appalachian Mountains end in Maine where the AT ends, when in fact the range stretches through North America and across the Atlantic Ocean. As the IAT community explains: "The Appalachian Mountains were formed more than 250 Million years ago during the Paleozoic Era, when the Earth's plates collided to form the supercontinent Pangea. They straddled the central part of that continent in what is today eastern North America, eastern Greenland, Western Europe, and northwest Africa. When today's continents separated to form the Atlantic Ocean, remnants of the Appalachians ended up in the eastern United States, eastern Canada, Greenland, Scandinavia, the British Isles, Brittany, the Iberian Peninsula, and the Atlas Mountains of Morocco and Algeria."

On Earth Day 1994 Governor Joe Brennan announced his intention to establish what is now the IAT. It began as an idea to create a trail that would link the highest peaks in Maine, New Brunswick and Quebec. The project has since grown beyond what those initially involved could have ever hoped for. Since 1995 the trail has been extended north twice. Originally the end of the trail was at Mont Jacques Cartier in Quebec but a new trail was made pushing east, bringing the end to the Gaspé Peninsula at Cap Gaspé. Then, in 2002, the trail was expanded again upon a request from a Newfoundland delegation, up through the Appalachians of Newfoundland to Belle Isle. At present, the trail is nearly 1800 miles long.

Over the last weeks, in the course of promoting for Border Crossings, I was given the opportunity to work with members of the IAT Board of Directors. Seeking an authority on the trail, I was directed to Donald Hudson—President of the Maine Chapter and a founding member of the IAT. Together with Richard Anderson—the President of the IAT, Mr. Hudson has in a quite literal sense, been working to blaze the trail.

Listing Donald's achievements is no small thing. He first developed an interest in plants and ecology in the early 1970s while leading expeditions for the Chewonki Foundation in Maine and Quebec.  He graduated from Dartmouth College in 1972 with a degree in French and Environmental Studies.  He earned a Master's degree from the University of Vermont and a Ph.D. from Indiana University. Don became the Head Naturalist at Chewonki in 1982, was appointed President in 1991, retiring in July 2010.

Don is a founding member of the International Appalachian Trail, the Friends of Baxter State Park and the Maine Green Campus Consortium. He is currently Chair of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway Advisory Council.  He received the Green Heart award from the Quimby Family Foundation in 2009. Then in 2010 he was bestowed an Environmental Merit Lifetime Achievement award from the US EPA, the Distinguished Service Award from the University of Maine at Machias, the Espy Conservation Award from the Maine Land Trust Network and an Outdoor Hero Award from LL Bean.

L.M.: Mr. Hudson, thank you for giving us your time. Let's start at the beginning: how did the idea for the IAT come about? Where did this endeavor originate?

Former Maine Commissioner of the Department of Conservation, Dick Anderson conceived the idea in October 1993 and asked Chloe Chunn, Dick Davies and me to help.  Dick and I had traveled to the Chic Choc Mountains on the Gaspé in 1988 and had talked there about the common origin of the landscape and ecological communities.  I suspect that trip might have helped the idea of the trail to gel in Dick's mind.  A few months later, on Earth Day, April 22, 1994, Governor Joe Brennan announced the plan.

L.M.: How did you become involved?

Hudson: I met Dick in 1988 when he invited me to accompany a group of wildlife biologist on that trip to the Chic Choc Mountains on the Gaspé.  Dick was managing a caribou reintroduction project in Maine, and the group was interested to visit a place where caribou are still a part of the wildlife community.  Dick thought that my experience with Arctic/alpine plant communities – the source of much of the food that the Chic Choc caribou eat – might be a help to the group.  We stayed in touch through the years until Dick described the idea of the IAT to me one Saturday morning in October 1993 at the Main Street Deli in Bath, Maine.  We've been working very closely together ever since.

 L.M.: What were the biggest hurdles that had to be overcome for the IAT to be realized?

Hudson: A long distance trail is always a work-in-progress, and the biggest hurdle to its establishment is to secure the support and cooperation of the many landowners over whose land the trail must pass.  Next, especially in the case of this international project, is to help establish well functioning groups to help put the trail on the ground and to maintain it through time.  Lastly, a long distance trail is nothing if people don't walk on it!  Public awareness, acceptance, and enthusiasm for the project make up the formula for its eventual success.

 L.M.: As I understand it, there was some resistance to the notion of the IAT from the United States trail community?

Hudson: Yes!  When we wrote Joe's short speech announcing the trail, we described it as an "extension" of the Appalachian Trail.  Well, that was a mistake!  The AT is a national treasure that has brass plaques marking the two ends.  Recently retired Appalachian Trail Conservancy Executive Director David Startzell spoke with Dick a day after our announcement and suggested that we describe the project as a "connecting" trail to the AT.  With that change, we overcame the lion's share of objections.  It's fair to say that some influential state trail and park managers took more than a decade to warm up to the idea of the IAT.  It's very hard now to find someone who is not at least intrigued by the IAT.

 L.M.:  How is the relationship between the AT and the IAT now? All fences have been mended I trust?

Hudson: Dick Anderson and I traveled recently to West Virginia to help celebrate Dave Startzell's retirement at a special party organized by the staff and board of the ATC.  We met the new Executive Director Mark Wenger and made tentative plans to show him stretches of the IAT in Quebec this coming summer.  Dave and his wife will also be joining us in Reykjavik, Iceland in June at the first annual meeting of the IAT that will include our European chapters.  I'd say we have a very positive and productive relationship with the ATC.

 L.M.: Traveling up through Canada, I should think the terrain of the IAT may be more difficult than that of the AT. Is the IAT for experienced hikers only?

Hudson: Not really!  The Appalachian mountains in Canada support less forest and more tundra-like vegetation than their southern counterparts, so they look more rugged and challenging from a distance.  However, when you put your feet on the ground, you are walking on very similar terrain made of the same sorts of rock that you can find throughout the entire range.  It is true that there are stretches of very new trail in some parts, and so it will have a different feel than a trail that is decades older.  Nevertheless, the walking is comparable.

 L.M.: Has anyone ever done a hike-thru of the entire AT and IAT?

Hudson: Yes! Over 100 people have walked the original IAT in Quebec, New Brunswick and Maine, and the entire length of the AT.  Since we added Newfoundland to the trail in North America in 2003, a couple of dozen have walked from Katahdin in Maine to Crow Head in Newfoundland and along the entire length of the AT.  There have also been a small handful of long distance hikers who have walked from Key West to Crow Head along a route that includes both the AT and the IAT, which they call the Eastern Continental Trail.

 L.M.: What is your overall experience of personally hiking along the IAT? What are your fondest trail moments?

Hudson: I have been to the top of several of the highest peaks in the Chic Choc Mountains of the Gaspé and the Long Range Mountains of Newfoundland.  I've walked along the border between Maine and New Brunswick (no other trail in the world follows an international border!), through bogs and along dramatic shorelines.  You can watch whales from the IAT at Cap Gaspé.  However, some of the most memorable experiences have been the times that we worked on restoring a fire warden's cabin at the top of Deasey Mountain or cleared out a derelict beaver dam that had caused flooding of the trail.

L.M.: What are a few of the prominent species of wildlife inhabiting the areas? What wildlife might a hiker encounter along the trail?

Hudson: It goes without saying that the whale watching opportunities from the tip of the Gaspé or the northern peninsula of Newfoundland might be the most extraordinary experiences along the trail.  Where else can you see such things from a hiking trail?  There are large numbers of moose and caribou to see throughout Newfoundland, and a small herd of caribou also occurs in the mountains of the Gaspé.  In addition to moose in Maine, hikers may catch a glimpse of a black bear, though these animals are a bit more wary than moose.  Birdwatchers will be treated to a wide variety of hawks and owls, as well as to the full suite of boreal forest species – from Boreal Chickadees and Three-toed Woodpeckers to colorful wood warblers like the Canada Warbler.  Harlequin Ducks, Atlantic Puffins, Northern Gannets, Common Murres, and dozens of other coastal and pelagic birds can be seen along stretches of the trail on the Gaspé, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland.  Finally, if you hike along stretches of the IAT that follow the Tobique, Upsalquitch or Restigouche Rivers in New Brunswick during the spring or fall, you are likely to see Atlantic Salmon – some leaping right out of the water as they make their way upstream through rapids and over small falls.

L.M.: If someone wanted to hike the IAT (or a portion of it) where should they start? Does the IAT community offer tips for organizing an extended hike?

Hudson: The IAT maintains a website with pages for each of the almost 20 chapters.  Many of the chapters are very new and trail routes are just being identified.  Interested hikers can find detailed maps and guides for the older chapters in North America.  Contact information is prominently displayed on the website, and we are accustomed to responding to individual inquiries when necessary to help a long distance hiker figure out how to get on and off the trail.

L.M.: You recently told me that the IAT is following the remnants of the Appalachian range across the Atlantic with new extensions in Scotland, Europe, North Africa and the Scandinavian countries. It is estimated that the trail will one day be over 20,000. Back in 1994 could you ever imagine that the trail would be taken this far?

Hudson: We knew about the common geologic history of the mountains on either side of the Atlantic when we made our announcement in 1994, and we used that story to help explain the vision of connecting the three highest mountains in Maine, New Brunswick and Quebec (we call it Phase 1 now).  We used the same rationale in 2003 to push the trail on into Newfoundland through Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island (Phase 2).  Yet, none of use imagined that we'd be celebrating the end of the trail at Crow Head, Newfoundland, let alone that this would be the end of the trail in North America, with thousands of miles yet to go in Europe… and, North Africa.

L.M.: Solitude is hard to achieve in this modern age but it can be found along the trails of the International Appalachian Trail. Passing through relatively undeveloped parts of Canada, the IAT is a rare sanctuary for both threatened wildlife and those individuals seeking to commune with the landscape. Do you receive governmental grant assistance to help you maintain the trail or do you rely solely on the support of the general public?

Hudson: The Canadian chapters of the IAT have all received some level of financial support to create the trail, including a couple of million dollars in Quebec to build over 200 miles of new trail and dozens of shelters and rustic mountain chalets along the entire 400 mile length of their trail.  We received a small state grant in Maine to build a 2-mile stretch of new trail.  However, our needs have been fewer as we have been able to take advantage of existing trails to knit together the length of the IAT in Maine.

L.M.: As I understand it the AT community is having problems staving off developers and maintaining the trails throughout the various states. What issues, if any, is the IAT currently trying to overcome?

Hudson: Thirty-five percent of the AT followed roads in 1937 when the trail was first declared "complete".  They have been working ever since to get the trail into the woods and off the roads.  Likewise, we've got stretches of the IAT along roads in each of the 6 chapters of the IAT in North America, and we are working away at moving the trail into the woods wherever possible.  I can think of a couple of small mountains northeast of Baxter State Park over which we would love to route the trail.  However, we anticipate that it will take many more years to win the approval of landowners.  We hang on to the goals and chip away over time!  Most people recognize that these long distance trails are instruments of economic development for the rural communities through which they pass.  That was Benton MacKaye's vision when he first proposed the AT in 1921, and it's the vision of those crafting the trail in places as far flung as Patton, Maine and Glen Coe, Scotland, or Tide Head, New Brunswick and Guadalupe, Spain.  These long distance trails help rural communities celebrate their strong connection to nature, and we all yearn for those chances to touch the Earth.

L.M.: Is there any way that the public can help support the IAT in its conversation efforts?

Hudson: Yes! Absolutely!  First and foremost, hikers make trails.  A few people like Dick Anderson have the big vision of linking people and places of common geological and biological origin.  The rest of us can make it happen by joining a chapter and picking up a small handsaw or a pair of clippers to help keep the path clear.  However, the real trail builders are the hundreds and thousands of walkers who make the path well worn by taking the time to enjoy a walk of a few hours, days, or – who knows? – a few months.  That's just what Ian Marshall has done!

L.M.: What's on the horizon for the IAT? What are the current goals of the community?

Hudson: We've got a lot of work to do in the coming months and years to help chapters stand up throughout the entire length of the growing trail.  In some places like Scandinavia, there is a great deal of experience and energy for creating and managing a trail.  Scotland has recently announced its route from the northeast to the southwest coasts, along the Cape Wrath Trail, the West Highland Way and the Firth o Clyde Rotary Trail.  Each of our new chapters is hard at work to build a working trail management group, develop its route, and negotiate just where its trail will meet up with that of its neighbors at the border.  The biggest goal, I believe, is to have a near continuous line on a map before the end of the decade throughout the full length of the trail.  No doubt we have a lot of work!  The idea is just now being explored in Morocco and Portugal, for example.  However, everyone is making progress, and I look forward very much to seeing the maps and hearing the plans when we gather in Reykjavik, Iceland in June.

 ◊

For more information on the IAT go to: www.iat-sia.com

Pick up Border Crossings: Walking the Haiku Path on the International Appalachian Trail by Ian Marshall on February 24th and read Ian's personal accounts of hiking the IAT. To preview the introduction of Border Crossings click here>>

Matane Gaspésie Photo by: Don Hudson

 

L.M. Browning grew up in a small fishing village in Connecticut where she began writing at the age of 15. A longtime student of Religion, Nature and Philosophy these themes permeate her work. Browning is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominated author. In 2010 she penned a three-title contemplative poetry series: Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith, Ruminations at Twilight: Poetry Exploring the Sacred and The Barren Plain: Poetry Exploring the Reality of the Modern Wasteland. In late 2011 she celebrated the release of her first full-length novel: The Nameless Man, which was co-authored by Marianne Browning.

Browning is a partner at Hiraeth Press—an Independent Publisher of Contemplative and Ecological titles. She is an Associate Editor of the bi-annual e-publication, Written River: A Journal of Eco-Poetics. She is Founder of Homebound—an imprint of Hiraeth Press devoted to fiction. Balancing her love of writing with her love of learning, she is currently working for a degree in Philosophy through The University of London and writing her next novel tentatively scheduled for release in early autumn 2013.

Grassroots | A Poem

 

 

GRASSROOTS

by L.M. Browning {Excerpt from Oak Wise}

 

 

 

 

I. The Face of Faith

 

The grassroots of humankind's spirituality

―this ecological faith―

was founded not by prophets

but by peasants…

by those who had nothing

and so discovered the worth

in the naturalness growing round them.

 

A homely faith that is without pomp,

the sacred objects of which

are the ubiquitously growing

wood, grass and berries,

the many-formed breasts and birds

and the life-guarding elements

fire and water.

 

The presence of the sacred mother and father

―the divine beings―

was discovered by those whom dwelt in hovels…

a rustic folk, uneducated

but with a keen eye and open heart.

 

Farmers not scholars;

family men not clerics;

paupers of low class

with dirty hands, calloused feet,

yellowing teeth and matted hair.

…a rustic folk, though heart-hardy.

 

II. Where Belief is Found

 

It was there―

while tiling the fields,

raking the muck,

feeding the pigs

and tending the fire

that the rumination of purity began.

 

It was while

the warm wind blew,

the wildflowers bloomed

and the clockwork of the stars moved in turn

that these hardened folk

felt the presence of some greater power

and began a contemplation of the sacred

that would be passed down

to every generation to follow after them.

 

In and amongst the lush green of the wood

they could sense some magnanimous spirit at work.

In the return of the spring after the winter

they could sense this being's merciful nature.

 

They knew of their small place

within the intimidating grand scope of the world

and they recognized the being whose

all-encompassing hands

hold all things in balance.

 

Gleaning an understanding of the unfathomable

through what their eyes could see and heart could feel

the simple folk became the wise.

 

Their respect for the wild realm

and the force governing it

verged on reverence and,

alight with a desire to know the being

whose aura they sense within all things,

spirituality was born.

 

♦

 

Centuries since the discovery

of the sacred within the meadows,

the strongest faith is still had

by those of meager means.

 

We can try to dig up

the grassroots from which we sprung

but they go too deeply into us to ever be eradicated.

 

Generations later,

we are quite removed from the hovel

yet we cannot change the blood

of the herdsman and farmers

that runs through our veins.

 

We strive to escape our poverty

yet we who have suffered it

can be understood by no other kind.

I can understand a poor mother

better than I can a rich man.

I began to rise from my poverty

into the ranks of middle class

yet found I could not relate to one

whom had never known the struggle.

 

Leading me to realize that I belonged in the slums

with the desperate and the dying;

for, though they have not a shilling,

they know how difficult this life can be.

And consequently, they were the only ones

whom could appreciate what my life had been.

 

A fraternity of the damned and disowned,

only we can know what each other has faced.

Made brothers and sisters through our shared trials,

which the imagination of the sheltered mind cannot fathom,

we can look into the eyes of one we meet

and see if he or she is kindred to us.

 

Visiting that lowest level of survival,

wherein our last remnants of pride are stripped from us

as we are forced to beg for scraps worthy of only a mutt,

leaves a mark upon one ―a look about the eyes―

which others whom have also been there can recognize.

 

Preferring the harsh honesty

and rough living of the peasants,

I would rather be given a crust of bread by a beggar

than be bought a banquet by a benefactor;

for the beggar gives from his heart,

while the rich man has made his money

by living without one.

 

III. Going Back to Go Forward

 

Unable to flush the blood

of the pleasant from my veins

I shall honor what I am,

return to the cottage

and perhaps find in that modest hut,

the place where I belong.

 

I seek to return to my humble beginning

so to commune with the sacred in its primal form.

To depart the civilized world

where we live boxed up away from the earth

and return to the dirt floored hovel.

Never again to touch the steel knobs of a faucet

―one for hot and one for cold―

but to draw my water

from the steams and stone-walled wells

cool water in the winter,

warm in the summer.

 

Kept too long in these polyester sheets,

I miss my bed of prairie grass

and my blanket of the summer sun.

 

I miss washing the dust from my feet upon returning

from a barefoot walk along the well-worn paths.

Sweeping through the thick growth―

the tips of each pronged leaf

bejeweled with morning dew,

soaking my shirt and pant legs as I brush past.

 

Come, dance around the bonfire with me

―surrender yourself,

indulge the instincts you have long ignored.

 

Come, I have tilled the soil

now you follow behind me

and sow the seeds.

 

Come, resume your place―

walk out into the torrential rains

and be re-baptized into the natural faith.

 

Do not deny your rustic soul

that yearns for the smell of the hearth

and the feel of cool dirt between your fingers.

Remove yourself from your modern prison,

which suppresses every instinct of your native self

and become the old ways…

embrace the folk from whom you descend.

 

We built this modern world

thinking it would fulfill us,

only to discover that this way of life

brings emptiness, not ease.

 

Yet instead of dismantling this world we made

and returning to the old ways

we suffered ourselves to stay

and let the great machine keep churning.

 

We coined the modern adage,

"you can't return home,"

condemning ourselves to a way of life

where joy is seldom found;

closing a door

that would have always remained open to us…

a door that still can be reopened,

if only we admit that we are a people of the earth

and what we need to be fulfilled

lies within the simple ways we left behind.

 

 

The above is an excerpt from Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith [Little Red Tree 2010]. If you would like to add the collection to your home library you can purchase a signed first edition for $9.95 in our bookstore here>>

Text by: L.M. Browning © 2010 | Original Image: Grass Along the Black Banks by: L.M. Browning – All Rights Reserved

Our Bookstore | Poetry Sale!

The time has come for a bit of early spring cleaning. All of my poetry titles are now on sale for $9.95ea! (Old list price was: $19.95) Or you can buy the whole set of 3 for $25.00! (Normally $59.95.) These are all signed first edition. Once they are sold out the titles will be out of print! There are: 21 copies of Oak Wise, 31 copies of Ruminations at Twilight and 19 copies of The Barren Plain. Place your orders soon! {Visit our online bookstore to purchase your copy today.} 

 

What makes a family? – Blood vs. Love | An Excerpt from The Nameless Man

The following is an excerpt from The Nameless Man [ 2011]. It was taken from Chapter XIII: The Orphans. In this passage the nameless man sits with a husband and wife discussing what defines family. Is blood the only prerequisite needed to establish familial bonds or is something more not required?

•

…After thinking to himself for a moment the man proceeded, "Perhaps there is something else I should tell you before I go into my family's past. It has to do with what family is.

"You see, just as union has been belittled to equal only a legal bonding, so too the ties of family have been belittled—boiled down to the presence of a blood-relation; removing love from the equation.

"In the time before evil came into being, when a child was born unto their father and mother there was no doubt that the bond of family was genuine. Now however, everything has changed. Now a child can be born unto a man and a woman who are not that child's parents. As odd as it may sound to you, a child can be born to a woman who is not its mother and be put into the arms of a man who is not its father."

"I do not understand," Maria said. "If a woman bears a child she is that child's mother. If a man creates a child he is that child's father. How can it be any other way?"

"No, not always…not now," the man replied. "Forming a bond between parent and child is not a matter of conception; the genetics do not hold the bond. Shared blood does not create a bond. Parentage is decided solely upon the presence of love.

"Only those who do not believe in love, would disregard love as the defining element of family. In the old world it was different. Love created the bonds between people, shared blood was just a by-product of the creation of the physical body. But in a place that is devoid of love—that was founded upon an abandoning of a belief in love—a new method of denoting bonds had to be conceived of and it was the concept of shared blood that was fallen back upon.

"This idea of shared blood denoting a family bond is as absurd as thinking a priest pronouncing two people as married can forge a real union between them. The coursing blood does not bring love to the heart. The emotional bonds that create a family are not encoded within our DNA." The man paused; he still did not see comprehension in Maria's eyes, this was not surprising. It takes more than a few words to change a lifetime's way of thinking. Samuel likewise, was reaching to understand this idea.

He continued, "Blood can reveal shared genetics but nothing more; our blood does not dictate who we shall love or who shall love us, as such blood does not dictate who we have bonds with. Bonds are created from the presence of love. The depth of the bond is defined by the depth of the love felt. Family cannot be defined by the vein. It must be defined instead by the unseen substance that flows from the heart. We must define our family, not by who we share blood with, but by who we share love with."

"You would say then that a man and a woman who give birth to a child are not necessarily the parents of the child?" Maria said, recapping.

"A woman carrying a child in her womb and giving birth to the child does not make a woman a mother. I know this is a different way of thinking," the man said, understanding the difficultly they were having. "But in the end, my point is a simple one. The question is, what denotes parentage. I would ask you this: What is it to be a mother? Is the one and only prerequisite for becoming a child's mother the act of giving birth? Or is the woman not required to love the child she bears in order to be known as that child's mother? Is love secondary to genetics? Or are genetics secondary to love?

"A woman gives birth to a child, though, instead of nurturing the child she stifles it; instead of caring for the child she neglects it; instead of protecting the child she attacks it; instead of being that child's source of life she becomes a threat upon it—a drain and a plague.

"However, in time, as this child grows it meets another woman who does the opposite—who is loving, nurturing and cares unconditionally.

"Now, which woman is the child's mother? Which of the two women has fulfilled what it is to be a mother? Is it the first woman, whose only motherly act was that of giving birth, before in essence, abandoning the child? Or is it the second woman who, while having not given birth to the child, did help bring that child to life? What is it to be a mother? Is it a title that all women who have bore a child can adopt? Or is it not a bond made by the presence of love?

"If who our family is, is a matter of blood alone then the woman who tries to suppress her child, can be called the child's mother; for her's was the womb that brought the child forth—the two have shared blood and that is the only factor that is taken into consideration. Whereas the woman who would have loved and cared for the child could not be called the child's mother; for her blood is not the same as what runs through the child's veins. Do you begin to see the absurdity?" the man commented, at a loss as to how such a backward notion could be so widely accepted.

"If the title of mother and father solely belongs to those who share blood and is not determined by the presence of love, then the man who beats his child would have the same right to be called a father as the man who protects and provides honorably for his child.

"Is it not a contradiction to call a woman or man who hates their child, the mother and father of that child? Must one not embody what it is to be a mother or to be a father before they are allowed to be called such. Or is love not required and even the meanest, embittered, hurtful person, whose very presence is toxic to a child, can be given the sacred title of mother and father?

"Only in a world where love is not central would family be determined in such a cold way."

"I do not have a loving relationship with my family," Samuel shared. "They have not been as aggressive as Maria's family—they never slapped me down or sought to control me. They never hurt me per se but they also never gave me anything…" he stopped short.

Maria picked up his thought, "Not everyone has a loving mother and father. But what can be done about it? Regardless of it all, they are our family. Aren't they?" She asked.

"Abuse is not always what people do to us but what they don't do—the love that is withheld and the closeness that is never experienced hurts just as deep as the strike of the hand. Whether or not you meant to Maria, you just now summed up the belief that is instilled in us—the backward belief that makes those in abusive, loveless relationships resign themselves to stay in them forever.

"An unloving mother or unloving father is a contradiction in terms. We are led to believe that blood alone defines family, that when shared genetics are present, familial bonds are inalterable. Nevertheless, we all know deep within ourselves that a mother and father are meant to be loving and nurturing. This is why it hurts us so badly when they are the opposite. Blood determines nothing. When a person who has bore a child does not live up to what it is to be a parent they have lost their right of parentage.

"Define what it is to be a father? The father is the protector and the provider, he is the gentle strength, the steadiness—he is the guide. Define what is it to be a mother? The mother is the nurturer; she is the living womb—others develop and flourish under her care.

"Birth of a child and love of that child once went hand-in-hand. In the old world when a man and woman gave birth to a child they were the undisputed parents of that child; for in the old world, not loving your child was inconceivable. Here however, in the time since evil rose, things are different.

"Here children are born as a consequence of lust and loneliness; they are born as a mistake or miscalculation—outrageous terms to apply to one's child. And it is because a child can now be born unto loveless people, that a child can be born into the arms of those who are not their parents."

"I have never felt close to my parents," Maria confessed. "There were never, I love you's or I miss you's we have been together out of obligation and blood. I knew this was wrong—that things should be different in a family. But I simply thought, I did not have a loving family. Now I see the contradiction in those terms…that love equals family and where there is no love, there is no family.

"I don't know if I could simply leave them," Maria said, still struggling with guilt. "Regardless of what they have done it seems wrong to abandon them. I mean, even with all that they have done wrong, how can I break apart our family?" she asked, feeling as though she were going against the natural way of things.

"I feel the same way," Samuel reasoned. "My family was not loving but we also were never left to want. I would feel guilty to leave. I would be afraid to stand up to my parents regardless of how deeply they have hurt me."

"Fear and guilt—these are not things that bind a family.

"You say your family never hurt you but what you mean is that they never struck you. Because, in the end, if they did not give you love they did hurt you. It is a passive abuse, but depriving another of what they need to flourish, be it food or love or shelter, is abuse.

"I will not push you, I would simply suggest that you look at your relationship with those you call family and tell me if you do not believe family is meant to be more than what you have with them."

"In the past, I have thought that, perhaps I could talk with them? Point out what our relationship has been lacking and they would change," Samuel said, knowing he was deceiving himself. Maria said nothing to this; for she too knew it to be a desperate attempt to avoid a painful truth.

"I have found that those who love us—love us. And those who don't, do not," the man replied in a regrettable manner. He wished he could have simply agreed with Samuel's idea but he couldn't. "If you spoke up change might come but it would be only superficial and most-likely only temporary; for nothing has changed in their heart."

Samuel picked up Maria's hand, holding it tightly in his own. He knew the man was right. All their lives Samuel and Maria had known the truth, the man simply confirmed it.

"…you know what you each have with one another," the man reasoned in a heartfelt voice, trying to ease their heartache. "You know what your bond means to you both…. Don't you want that same depth of love from those you would call your parents?

"In the end," he said, "I know your story. You don't have to tell me all that you have been through for me to know the situation. The point to my sharing these truths with you was to free you from your misplaced obligations.

"You each must choose what you will do."

"If we were born to parents who never loved us," Maria asked in a sad voice, "does that mean, we will never have a family?"

"No," the man said in a consoling voice of imparted hope, "not at all."

 

The Nameless Man by L.M. Browning and Marianne Browning is now available to purchase in and . Go to , Barnes & Noble, order publisher direct through Homebound's online bookstore or pick yourself up a signed first edition here in the online bookstore at lmbrowning.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interview With Author Ian Marshall

In his book, The Stars, The Snow, The Fire, Alaskan poet and essayist John Haines said: "The trails I made led outward into the hills and swamps, but they led inward also. And from the study of things underfoot, and from reading and thinking, came a kind of exploration, myself and the land. …to take the trail and not look back."

On February 24th Hiraeth Press will be releasing its first title of 2012, Border Crossings: Walking the Haiku Path on the International Appalachian Trail  by Ian Marshall. This book follows Ian Marshall on his journey over the International Appalachian Trail, which runs from Mt. Katahdin in Maine up through New Brunswick and out to the tip of Quebec's Gaspé Peninsula. Countless books have been done to chronicle humanity's communion with nature, from the classics written by naturalists such as Henry David Thoreau or John Muir, to the more contemporary offerings such as Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer and A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson; however Border Crossings stands out as unique among its fellows. Composed of Haiku and contemplative prose, Border Crossings is book of braided styles: poetry, prose and travel writing. This style, as the author explains, is akin to that of haibun—a style of writing made popular by such wandering Japanese poets as Matsuo Bashō that merges poetic and meditative prose, literary criticism and cultural meditation.

Ian Marshall is a professor of English and Environmental Studies at Penn State Altoona and a former president of the Association for the Study of Literature and Environment. Border Crossings is Mr. Marshall's fourth book. He is the author of Story Line: Exploring the Literature of the Appalachian Trail [1998,] Peak Experiences: Walking Meditations on Literature, Nature, and Need [2003,] and Walden by Haiku [2009.]

L.M. : Ian, when did the thought to hike the International Appalachian Trail first come into your mind?

Ian: Probably the first moment I heard of it, which was sometime around the turn of the century. I had finished hiking the Appalachian Trail as a section hiker in 1998, and I was looking for another sort of long-term hiking project—to give me something to look forward to each summer. That, and a reason to get in shape at least once a year. My partner Megan and I could only get away for two weeks at a time each summer, so we did the trail in pieces over six consecutive summers. That's not a bad way to hike a long trail, since it's a part of your life for a long time, and every year the afterglow from one year's hike flows into the anticipation and excitement of planning and preparation for the next stretch.

L.M.: Did you set out on the trail intending to write a book about your experiences or did the book evolve organically from your own travel journal?

Ian: Because I had done a book on the Appalachian Trail that combined my hiking experiences with my reading pleasures, called Story Line, I had the book in mind from the start. The plan to hike the IAT was taking shape just when I was starting to learn about haiku, and reading about the history and practice of haiku, so the plan took shape early—to combine the two experiences, hiking the trail and along the way learning about haiku. Something to keep both body and mind busy!

L.M.: In your introduction you state that the style of writing in Border Crossings is haibun. Could you expand on the term for those unfamiliar with it?

Ian: In my scholarly writing I have long been a practitioner of what's called "narrative scholarship" or "autobiographical criticism," which means to incorporate your own stories and personal experiences with your scholarly grappling with the text. I chose to do that because it made the writing more personal and engaging and accessible to readers who weren't necessarily scholars. Plus it was more fun to write. In scholarly circles that sort of hybrid writing is considered daring, but when I started learning about haiku I found that narrative scholars like me were really reinventing the wheel. Haibun, as practiced most famously by Bashō in Narrow Road to the Deep North, is also a hybrid of genres, blending haiku with prose. Often that prose is poetically charged, but at times it's travel writing, and at times Bashō comments on his poetic predecessors and the art of haiku—so it's literary criticism of sorts as well. The book is called Border Crossings, then, not only because it crosses a national border from the US to Canada and a linguistic and cultural border from English to French, but genre borders as well.

L.M.: The Transcendentalist author and naturalist Henry David Thoreau and Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō, while separated by an ocean and several hundred years, certainly were kindred-minds. Their philosophies converge in the modern day in your unique perspective. When did you first encounter the works of these respective writer/journeyers who would come to play such a central role in defining your philosophies?

Ian: Thoreau has always been a particular hero of mine, and it seems that in my writing I keep coming back to Thoreau. I tell my students that Walden is a life-changing book, and I illustrate that with my own experience—from not really getting it at first read in high school, to valuing it as a manifesto challenging conformity when I was in college, to appreciating it as nature writing when I carried it in my backpack while I was hiking the AT, to seeing how Thoreau challenges us to think about what our life is about when I was working at an unfulfilling job. Thoreau tells us to "live the life we have imagined" and build "castles in the air"—but also to put good foundations under those castles in the air. When I was working retail many years ago, I'd come home at night and read that stuff and just know that I wasn't doing work that was spiritually or intellectually satisfying. I wanted to find a job where I could get paid to do the things that mattered to me—that would be hiking and reading books—and I figured the foundation under that dream, at least the reading books part, would be graduate school. That started me on my career path. So Thoreau has long been part of my life. Then a few years back a colleague asked me to present a conference paper on the topic of Thoreau and metaphor, and at first I begged off by saying, nah, these days I'm thinking about haiku. But while I was thinking about haiku, I started leafing through Walden and noticing all these images that could be converted into haiku. I did the conference paper, and then it grew into a book, Walden by Haiku. In the course of looking at what's haiku-like about Thoreau's writing and life philosophy, I inevitably started making comparisons to Bashō, whose most famous haiku is about a transformative moment of perception at an old pond. Sounds just like Henry, living on the shores of Walden Pond. In Border Crossings I make a joke at one point that even though my journey on the IAT is an imitation of Bashō's Narrow Road to the Deep North, I'm not under any illusions that I'm another Bashō—because I think I'm Henry Thoreau! That's a joke, of course. But I've sure been influenced by him.

L.M.: If you had to choose one moment of the trail that was the most impacting, what would it be?

Ian: There were so many high points, from the first day when we crossed the Katahdin Knife Edge on a spectacular day, to the last day in Parc Forillon, when we could look to our right and see whales in the bay, and in the forest to our left we saw a moose. There was a day on Mont Albert when there was mist swirling around the tableland on top, and we saw a couple of caribou when the mist lifted. There were lots of quiet moments of just plain satisfaction sitting around a campfire after a hard day's walking. But if I had to pick just one moment, it might be the evening at Lac Tombereau in the Matane Wildlife Reserve. A subtext of our hike had become a quest to see a moose—and we'd been disappointed for a long while even though we saw plenty of sign through Maine and New Brunswick and Quebec. But at Lac Tombereau we finally saw one—several actually—which made us giddy with excitement. That night we saw a black-crowned night heron at sunset, and we heard a serenade of coyotes. There were plenty of lovely quiet moments—making biscuits on our camp stove at dinner, pumping water by rushing streams. Oh, and gobbling handfuls of trailside raspberries in the Matepedia Valley! And in terms of spectacular hiking the whole of the Chic-Choc Mountains in Quebec's Gaspé Peninsula were a revelation. I guess I didn't do a very good job picking just one moment in answer to your question, did I? There were a lot of best and most impactful moments.

L.M.: By the same hand, what was the worst moment of the journey? Did you ever consider quitting the trail?

Ian: There were some frustrating moments—or hours, actually—where logging crews had thoroughly torn up the trail and we couldn't find our way. Those were times when I thought maybe we should postpone this whole trip till the trail is better established. On another day the trail had been relocated away from a lake where we were planning to stop for lunch and water; we ended up running out of water and getting pretty badly dehydrated—and very cranky—that day. But the worst was the day when my hiking partner (and now my wife) Megan and I got separated. I had thought she was right behind me, and when she never caught up I retraced steps all the way back up a mountain—no sign of her. I couldn't figure out what could have happened and was imagining all sorts of horrible things. Then on the way back down the mountain I heard her emergency whistle as she was backtracking to find me; there had been a side trail also marked with IAT signs, and she had gone one way and I had gone the other. Actually, that was the same day we ended up at Lac Tombereau and saw the moose, so it turned out, after that panicky hour or so, to be a great day.

L.M.: On journeys such as these—when hiking a long trail through the untouched places—we have a great deal of time to reassess our life and re-center our priorities. As a hiker myself I know that, when sitting around the fire at night or laying in my sleeping bag at night surrounded by the dark wild, my thoughts are never clearer. Stepping out of the grueling daily grind that keeps us semi-conscious and into the calm, removed landscape, we step into our Selves. What self-realization gleaned on the trail stands out as the strongest in your mind?

Ian: Probably the biggest realization is that Megan and I are a really good team, which is why we're now married! But anything that's hard, like a long hike or the ongoing attempt to learn how to write a decent haiku, is also a lesson in humility. There's no one step that's going to get you to the end of the trail all by itself, and there's no one magic incantation that will suddenly make you a wonderful poet—or a wonderful anything, for that matter. It's a matter of just keep plugging away, a step at a time, and with patience maybe you'll get there. And if the path turns out to be steep and not very well-marked, well, there's no sense getting angry about it—just do your best and during the tough sections realize that tomorrow is bound to be a better day.

I suppose I also learned that I really like the rhythms of combining physical exertion with the contemplative work (or play) of reading and writing. When you're hiking, all the clutter of your life and your mind falls away, because on the uphill you really have to focus your energies on the task at hand (or foot), and the rest of the time you're just caught up in this soothing rhythm and noticing what's going on all around you. And then your mind seems more receptive to fresh ways of seeing things or of putting words together. I'd notice something along the trail—the slant of light through balsam fir, the boldness of a spruce grouse, the taste of a berry—and I'd chew on it all for a while, placing images and words together in my mind, then pause to scribble something down. It wasn't really emptying the mind—just focusing it and reducing the clutter. It wasn't quite the Zen state of no-mind, but at least it was narrowing it all down to one thing at a time.

Ultimately, then, the spiritually-satisfying part of the hike was not so much any sort of self-realization as it was absorption in the world around us. Haiku is really good at cultivating that, because it's about looking outward rather than inward at the soul or psyche. Actually, there's another sort of border crossing involved in all that, trying to get beyond that dividing line between self and world.

L.M.: What are your current projects?

Ian: I just finished a project with a class at my college, where we built a replica of Henry Thoreau's cabin—that kept me busy through last semester. I do have some writing projects underway, but I don't think I want to talk about them until I get further along—some sort of weird superstition, I suppose, where I don't want to jinx things. Or maybe it's that I don't want to put a label on it until it's taken more definitive shape! But I'm always looking for ways to make my work and my play merge, so maybe I should find a writing project that incorporates biking, canoeing, learning guitar, and drinking good craft beer.

L.M. Browning grew up in a small fishing vil­lage in Connecticut where she began writing at the age of 15. A long­time stu­dent of Religion, Nature and Philosophy these themes per­meate her work. Browning is a two-​​time Pushcart Prize nom­i­nated author. In 2010 she penned a three-​​title con­tem­pla­tive poetry series: Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith, Ruminations at Twilight: Poetry Exploring the Sacred and The Barren Plain: Poetry Exploring the Reality of the Modern Wasteland. In late 2011 she cel­e­brated the release of her first full-​​length novel: The Nameless Man, which was co-​​authored by Marianne Browning. Browning is a partner at Hiraeth Press. She is an Associate Editor of the bi-​​annual e-​​publication, Written River: A Journal of Eco-​​Poetics. She is Founder of Homebound — an imprint of Hiraeth Press devoted to fic­tion. Balancing her love of writing with her love of learning, she is cur­rently working for a degree in Philosophy through The University of London External Programme and writing her next book — a young adult novel ten­ta­tively sched­uled for release in early spring 2013.

My Interview With Author Ian Marshall

In his book, The Stars, The Snow, The Fire, Alaskan poet and essayist John Haines said: "The trails I made led outward into the hills and swamps, but they led inward also. And from the study of things underfoot, and from reading and thinking, came a kind of exploration, myself and the land. …to take the trail and not look back."

On February 24th Hiraeth Press will be releasing its first title of 2012, Border Crossings: Walking the Haiku Path on the International Appalachian Trail  by Ian Marshall. This book follows Ian Marshall on this journey over the International Appalachian Trail, which runs from Mt. Katahdin in Maine up through New Brunswick and out to the tip of Quebec's Gaspé Peninsula. Countless books have been done to chronicle humanity's communion with nature, from the classics written by naturalists such as Henry David Thoreau or John Muir, to the more contemporary offerings such as Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer and A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson; howeverBorder Crossings stands out as unique among its fellows. Composed of Haiku and contemplative prose Border Crossings is book of braided styles: poetry, prose and travel writing. This style, as the author explains, is akin to that of haibun—a style of writing made popular by such Japanese poets as Matsuo Bashō that merges poetic and meditative prose, literary criticism and cultural meditation.

Ian Marshall is a professor of English and Environmental Studies at Penn State Altoona and a former president of the Association for the Study of Literature and Environment. Border Crossings is Mr. Marshall's fourth book. He is the author of Story Line: Exploring the Literature of the Appalachian Trail published in 1998, Peak Experiences: Walking Meditations on Literature, Nature, and Needpublished in 2003, and Walden by Haiku published in 2009.

L.M. : Ian, when did the thought to hike the International Appalachian Trail first come into your mind?

Ian: Probably the first moment I heard of it, which was sometime around the turn of the century. I had finished hiking the Appalachian Trail as a section hiker in 1998, and I was looking for another sort of long-term hiking project—to give me something to look forward to each summer. That, and a reason to get in shape at least once a year. My partner Megan and I could only get away for two weeks at a time each summer, so we did the trail in pieces over six consecutive summers. That's not a bad way to hike a long trail, since it's a part of your life for a long time, and every year the afterglow from one year's hike flows into the anticipation and excitement of planning and preparation for the next stretch.

L.M.: Did you set out on the trail intending to write a book about your experiences or did the book evolve organically from your own travel journal?

Ian: Because I had done a book on the Appalachian Trail that combined my hiking experiences with my reading pleasures, called Story Line, I had the book in mind from the start. The plan to hike the IAT was taking shape just when I was starting to learn about haiku, and reading about the history and practice of haiku, so the plan took shape early—to combine the two experiences, hiking the trail and along the way learning about haiku. Something to keep both body and mind busy!

L.M.: In your introduction you state that the style of writing in Border Crossings is haibun. Could you expand on the term for those unfamiliar with it?

Ian: In my scholarly writing I have long been a practitioner of what's called "narrative scholarship" or "autobiographical criticism," which means to incorporate your own stories and personal experiences with your scholarly grappling with the text. I chose to do that because it made the writing more personal and engaging and accessible to readers who weren't necessarily scholars. Plus it was more fun to write. In scholarly circles that sort of hybrid writing is considered daring, but when I started learning about haiku I found that narrative scholars like me were really reinventing the wheel. Haibun, as practiced most famously by Bashō in Narrow Road to the Deep North, is also a hybrid of genres, blending haiku with prose. Often that prose is poetically charged, but at times it's travel writing, and at times Bashō comments on his poetic predecessors and the art of haiku—so it's literary criticism of sorts as well. The book is called Border Crossings, then, not only because it crosses a national border from the US to Canada and a linguistic and cultural border from English to French, but genre borders as well.

L.M.: The Transcendentalist author and naturalist Henry David Thoreau and Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō, while separated by an ocean and several hundred years, certainly were kindred-minds. Their philosophies converge in the modern day in your unique perspective. When did you first encounter the works of these respective writer/journeyers who would come to play such a central role in defining your philosophies?

Ian: Thoreau has always been a particular hero of mine, and it seems that in my writing I keep coming back to Thoreau. I tell my students that Walden is a life-changing book, and I illustrate that with my own experience—from not really getting it at first read in high school, to valuing it as a manifesto challenging conformity when I was in college, to appreciating it as nature writing when I carried it in my backpack while I was hiking the AT, to seeing how Thoreau challenges us to think about what our life is about when I was working at an unfulfilling job. Thoreau tells us to "live the life we have imagined" and build "castles in the air"—but also to put good foundations under those castles in the air. When I was working retail many years ago, I'd come home at night and read that stuff and just know that I wasn't doing work that was spiritually or intellectually satisfying. I wanted to find a job where I could get paid to do the things that mattered to me—that would be hiking and reading books—and I figured the foundation under that dream, at least the reading books part, would be graduate school. That started me on my career path. So Thoreau has long been part of my life. Then a few years back a colleague asked me to present a conference paper on the topic of Thoreau and metaphor, and at first I begged off by saying, nah, these days I'm thinking about haiku. But while I was thinking about haiku, I started leafing through Walden and noticing all these images that could be converted into haiku. I did the conference paper, and then it grew into a book, Walden by Haiku. In the course of looking at what's haiku-like about Thoreau's writing and life philosophy, I inevitably started making comparisons to Bashō, whose most famous haiku is about a transformative moment of perception at an old pond. Sounds just like Henry, living on the shores of Walden Pond. In Border Crossings I make a joke at one point that even though my journey on the IAT is an imitation of Bashō's Narrow Road to the Deep North, I'm not under any illusions that I'm another Bashō—because I think I'm Henry Thoreau! That's a joke, of course. But I've sure been influenced by him.

L.M.: If you had to choose one moment of the trail that was the most impacting, what would it be?

Ian: There were so many high points, from the first day when we crossed the Katahdin Knife Edge on a spectacular day, to the last day in Parc Forillon, when we could look to our right and see whales in the bay, and in the forest to our left we saw a moose. There was a day on Mont Albert when there was mist swirling around the tableland on top, and we saw a couple of caribou when the mist lifted. There were lots of quiet moments of just plain satisfaction sitting around a campfire after a hard day's walking. But if I had to pick just one moment, it might be the evening at Lac Tombereau in the Matane Wildlife Reserve. A subtext of our hike had become a quest to see a moose—and we'd been disappointed for a long while even though we saw plenty of sign through Maine and New Brunswick and Quebec. But at Lac Tombereau we finally saw one—several actually—which made us giddy with excitement. That night we saw a black-crowned night heron at sunset, and we heard a serenade of coyotes. There were plenty of lovely quiet moments—making biscuits on our camp stove at dinner, pumping water by rushing streams. Oh, and gobbling handfuls of trailside raspberries in the Matepedia Valley! And in terms of spectacular hiking the whole of the Chic-Choc Mountains in Quebec's Gaspé Peninsula were a revelation. I guess I didn't do a very good job picking just one moment in answer to your question, did I? There were a lot of best and most impactful moments.

L.M.: By the same hand, what was the worst moment of the journey? Did you ever consider quitting the trail?

Ian: There were some frustrating moments—or hours, actually—where logging crews had thoroughly torn up the trail and we couldn't find our way. Those were times when I thought maybe we should postpone this whole trip till the trail is better established. On another day the trail had been relocated away from a lake where we were planning to stop for lunch and water; we ended up running out of water and getting pretty badly dehydrated—and very cranky—that day. But the worst was the day when my hiking partner (and now my wife) Megan and I got separated. I had thought she was right behind me, and when she never caught up I retraced steps all the way back up a mountain—no sign of her. I couldn't figure out what could have happened and was imagining all sorts of horrible things. Then on the way back down the mountain I heard her emergency whistle as she was backtracking to find me; there had been a side trail also marked with IAT signs, and she had gone one way and I had gone the other. Actually, that was the same day we ended up at Lac Tombereau and saw the moose, so it turned out, after that panicky hour or so, to be a great day.

L.M.: On journeys such as these—when hiking a long trail through the untouched places—we have a great deal of time to reassess our life and re-center our priorities. As a hiker myself I know that, when sitting around the fire at night or laying in my sleeping bag at night surrounded by the dark wild, my thoughts are never clearer. Stepping out of the grueling daily grind that keeps us semi-conscious and into the calm, removed landscape, we step into our Selves. What self-realization gleaned on the trail stands out as the strongest in your mind?

Ian: Probably the biggest realization is that Megan and I are a really good team, which is why we're now married! But anything that's hard, like a long hike or the ongoing attempt to learn how to write a decent haiku, is also a lesson in humility. There's no one step that's going to get you to the end of the trail all by itself, and there's no one magic incantation that will suddenly make you a wonderful poet—or a wonderful anything, for that matter. It's a matter of just keep plugging away, a step at a time, and with patience maybe you'll get there. And if the path turns out to be steep and not very well-marked, well, there's no sense getting angry about it—just do your best and during the tough sections realize that tomorrow is bound to be a better day.

I suppose I also learned that I really like the rhythms of combining physical exertion with the contemplative work (or play) of reading and writing. When you're hiking, all the clutter of your life and your mind falls away, because on the uphill you really have to focus your energies on the task at hand (or foot), and the rest of the time you're just caught up in this soothing rhythm and noticing what's going on all around you. And then your mind seems more receptive to fresh ways of seeing things or of putting words together. I'd notice something along the trail—the slant of light through balsam fir, the boldness of a spruce grouse, the taste of a berry—and I'd chew on it all for a while, placing images and words together in my mind, then pause to scribble something down. It wasn't really emptying the mind—just focusing it and reducing the clutter. It wasn't quite the Zen state of no-mind, but at least it was narrowing it all down to one thing at a time.

Ultimately, then, the spiritually-satisfying part of the hike was not so much any sort of self-realization as it was absorption in the world around us. Haiku is really good at cultivating that, because it's about looking outward rather than inward at the soul or psyche. Actually, there's another sort of border crossing involved in all that, trying to get beyond that dividing line between self and world.

L.M.: What are your current projects?

Ian: I just finished a project with a class at my college, where we built a replica of Henry Thoreau's cabin—that kept me busy through last semester. I do have some writing projects underway, but I don't think I want to talk about them until I get further along—some sort of weird superstition, I suppose, where I don't want to jinx things. Or maybe it's that I don't want to put a label on it until it's taken more definitive shape! But I'm always looking for ways to make my work and my play merge, so maybe I should find a writing project that incorporates biking, canoeing, learning guitar, and drinking good craft beer.

L.M. Browning grew up in a small fishing vil­lage in Connecticut where she began writing at the age of 15. A long­time stu­dent of Religion, Nature and Philosophy these themes per­meate her work. Browning is a two-​​time Pushcart Prize nom­i­nated author. In 2010 she penned a three-​​title con­tem­pla­tive poetry series: Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological Faith, Ruminations at Twilight: Poetry Exploring the Sacred and The Barren Plain: Poetry Exploring the Reality of the Modern Wasteland. In late 2011 she cel­e­brated the release of her first full-​​length novel: The Nameless Man, which was co-​​authored by Marianne Browning. Browning is a partner at Hiraeth Press. She is an Associate Editor of the bi-​​annual e-​​publication, Written River: A Journal of Eco-​​Poetics. She is Founder of Homebound — an imprint of Hiraeth Press devoted to fic­tion. Balancing her love of writing with her love of learning, she is cur­rently working for a degree in Philosophy through The University of London External Programme and writing her next book — a young adult novel ten­ta­tively sched­uled for release in early spring 2013.

Deep Notes, Quick Pace | A Poem

 

 

Deep Notes, Quick Pace

by L.M. Browning

 

 

 

The despairing beauty of the music

causes us to lament life as we live it.

 

The capture and loss of the moment

—the bittersweet quality of these fleeting days—

deepen the significance of what is felt.

 

The fragility of time

—strong one moment,

fading the next—

is the seduction

of the human experience.

 

The momentary ripeness of this flesh,

the short space of this breath,

quickly withered,

the beauty is missed

if not lived.

 

© Copyright 2012 L.M. Browning

Original Image entitled: Waves of Black Glass by L.M. Browning © Copyright 2011

On the Banks of Walden Pond | Travel Journal Entry

Recently I had the good fortune to make a literary pilgrimage to Concord, MA with a close friend. Over the course of a blissful long weekend, we visited Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House, Emerson's House, the Old Manse, Hawthorne's house and then ended at beloved Walden Pond. Here is a little low-res video I took on the spur of the moment in an effort to capture our hike. It does little justice to the genuine experience but I thought you all might like it nonetheless. Greetings from the banks of Walden.

 

Click here to view the video on YouTube.

 

Homecoming | A Letter on Transitions in Honor of the New Year

As some of my friends know, for me, before the pen, there was the pencil and brush. Before I took writing as my full-time passion/profession, I was an artist and amateur photographer. I have worked as a freelance graphic artist and as a young woman had my work hung throughout my native area of Mystic and the Stonington Borough (Southeastern Connecticut.)

In a strange occurrence, recently I have found myself pulled back towards art. The itch to take back up drawing has led me to dig out all my old art supplies, clear off the drafting table and ponder a new direction. Over the last few weeks I have spent some time gathering my portfolio together—rummaging through old boxes of sketches, wedged in the back of my closest, some of which date back to when I was eight years old and used to copy the cartoon figures from my favorite movies, dreaming of being an animator for the Walt Disney company. Inheriting the gift from my mother, as a child I was known as an artist. In high school I took more art classes than anything else (a testament to how much I loved my art teacher and how passionate I was about the craft.) My focuses of study right up until I was a sophomore were: illustration and design, with a building interest in architecture. It seemed likely that I would end up going into the arts after graduation. The Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) was my goal for some time. However, in 1998, everything changed.

When I was 15 years old I shifted from art to philosophy, spirituality and writing. For the last ten years these three focuses have been the dominant part of my life and my identity.  I put down the pencil and took up the pen as well as book after book on world religion, driving to understand what was occurring "behind the veil." The fruits from these years take form in Ruminations at Twilight, Oak Wise, The Barren Plain and countless unpublished works that fill my bookshelf, all culminating in the release of The Nameless Man. Nonetheless, it was after completing The Nameless Man this past October that I felt change come upon me again.

After releasing this novel, which was eight years in the making, I felt one chapter in my life end. I felt that I finished a necessary task—the putting forth of a new perspective. And with that task complete the passions of my youth, so prominent before I began my study of religion, begin to resurface in me. Drawing, photography and writing children's books have been on my mind a great deal lately. (When I was only 15, I wrote and illustrated a series of 3 children books about a Chipmunk named Figit.)

Returning to these old passions has felt like a homecoming—the return to a love had when I was just starting out, in a time before so many of the hardships in my life had begun. It has been akin to a reawakening. I have felt parts of me which I felt long passed, re-surge and help realign me with my center and I find myself going in new directions…exploring the path not taken.

Currently, while promoting The Nameless Man, finishing the final year of my program with University of London and Yale and seeing to my duties at Hiraeth Press, I am also working on my next novel. It is a young adult novel that I began writing in 2005 but put down to focus on the poetry series and The Nameless Man. I hope to finish with this novel in late 2012 and possibly release it in 2013. So, while you will still see the occasional spiritual poetry collection and novel from me, you will also begin to see my young adult works, as I return to my roots.

Thank you for all your support.

Warmest Blessings for the New Year.

-L.M.

New England, Winter 2012 

I put together an online portfolio containing some of my works. To view it go to: http://lmbrowning.hostmyportfolio.com/

Feature image: original artwork by L.M. Browning | Medium: Colored Pencil on Cotton. | Title: Transformation. All Rights Reserved