Our Lowest Point | A Journal Entry
by: L.M. Browning
“The gross heathenism of civilization
has generally destroyed nature, and poetry,
and all that is spiritual.” - John Muir
I write spiritual verses rich with ecological references. This paints an image in people’s minds as to what I must be like. After reading my work, most tend to envision me as the equivalent of Laura Ingles Wilder sweeping over flowered hilltops in a long sundress. When I reveal to them that I grew up a raging tom-boy in a suburban slum they are a bit taken aback.
I found my love of nature while exploring the small bit of wilderness near our apartment projects. It consisted of a few acres of wood behind the local high school and a small drip of a pond. I spent most of my early childhood here—knee-deep in muck, stalking frogs and painted turtles, hooking Catfish and building forts.
Our neighborhood certainly wasn’t a “ghetto” when compared to the harsh inner-city. It was more the equivalent of “the other side of the tracks” where the poor kids lived. Drugs, gangs and murders had been carried out in our neighborhood, making it “known” to the rest of the town. Out of the fourteen close friends I had as a child only six graduated high school and four of the fourteen have gone on to do serious jail time. Except myself and one other in the group, all had children within their teens, leaving them without an education living, check-to-check working menial jobs. Poverty, addiction, violence—we dealt with these issues starting at a very young age. One of my most-vivid memories that in my opinion sums up what we faced growing up, is that of watching a 3 or 4 year old boy sitting in the parking lot, snorting sand through a straw— imitating the behavior he saw each day (his mother being a addict.)
Despite being raised in such a bleak and harsh place, when the time came to venture into “the big city” for business matters as an adult, I was utterly out of my element. I am not a city person. As much as I have experienced a “street upbringing” I am a small town girl who is bombarded by the city. I am too thin-skinned to reside in the city. Do not mistake this as an omission of weakness. I am this way due to a conscious choice to remain sensitive to my surround.
When reflecting on what leaves me so unsettled when I venture into the city, these are the conclusions to which I come: The city, I suppose, is meant to be a pinnacle in mankind’s achievements—architecture, culture, civilization; however, in my view, there is nothing less civilized than the urban areas I have visited. Its character, to me, has always been one of rudeness. The sounds, the sites, and the smells are offensive to me. In my mind, “civilization” equals peace, enlightenment and harmony—a transcended way of living. There is nothing peaceful or harmonious about a city.
I write this on a train, returning home to my small Connecticut village after attending to business in Boston.
—Boston, Massachusetts | July 24, 2011
Lowest Point
Drunkards passed out,
mouths hanging open
as they lie sprawled out
on the stained benches
waking long enough
to kill-off the plastic bottle
of cheap liquor,
drooling on themselves
then passing out once more.
Passing cars kick up
the murky water in the streets,
that smell of sewage
in the humidity.
Cities—mankind’s accomplishment
are barbaric outposts.
True civilization
is found in the places man
has yet to touch.
Humanity need not create civilization
all we need do is not screw it up.
Image by: Grimy Train Window by: idleformat [Flickr Handle]
