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Terror en Terra - Mixed Messages in the Eye of the Storm
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aahe-@PRODIGY.NET
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Sep 24, 2001 16:24 PDT
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Terror en Terra - Mixed Messages in the Eye of the Storm
By Don Ogden
Returning to Manhattan a few days following the atrocity that took place
at the World Trade Center, I found myself juxtaposed between the horror to
the south of the island and an unexpected source of restoration to the
north. Watching ominous smoke and ash still rising from the space where the
Trade Towers once stood was, for this New Yorker, a deeply troubling
experience. We had come to the foot of the George Washington Bridge on an
overgrown path that skirts the eastern shore of the Hudson River. It's a
scruffy urban sort of nature there, full of invasives, litter and no doubt
out of ecological whack. A fitting place for a species such as ours:
creatures who would participate in, or be subjected to, outrageous acts far
beyond the natural constraints and capacities of all the other inhabitants
on this planet. Yet, such places present rare opportunities for city
dwellers to experience at least some semblance of reality. Pavement,
brickwork, traffic and the frenetic energy of city life are, after all, a
fabrication. They screen us from that which truly sustains our existence.
Throughout my life, most of it spent in New York, I've identified with such
islands of the natural world. They are like small gardens of refuge, not
quite parks, but not mere weed piles either. While the flora and fauna seem
distant and out of balance with their intended biological context, these
places exist as bridges to Creation. They flourish in spite of the
adversity.
But, any sense of relief gained from our walk through the weeds was soon
buried by the site of that frightening vacant space downriver. The view was
haunting. Some 6,000 human lives were lost down in the Battery in a matter
of an hour or so, all in the name of a concept, be it political or
religious. It was an assault on human lives and their constructs, but also
on Creation itself. I was born in this city, raised in its suburbs, and
have always identified strongly with it; even while knowing it to be a
fabrication fraught with error. The tragedy of September 11th felt as if
there had been an strike launched upon my own history, as well as the more
obvious one directed at living, breathing people and the structures which
house them. How would I deal with this crisis and the confusion and dismay
surrounding it? Unbeknownst to me, part of the answer lay further uptown
amidst some of the oldest trees I have ever encountered.
I have traveled in and around Manhattan island for over half a century,
often passing by its wooded northern end without actually entering it. It
was always gratifying just to know some of the once verdant woodland that
covered what must have been paradise centuries ago, remained in place. I
have read that the word "manhattan" means "island of general intoxication"
in the Algonquian language. Surely the temperate climate, babbling brooks,
abundant wildlife and deep wooded glades were once a source of awe, a
general intoxication. Today, for the most part, that elation has been
transformed into the excitement of city living; an entirely different form
of inebriation. Be that as it may, there remains this small enclave of the
original Manhattan at Inwood Park, a place that appears to live on somewhat
as it was when the Wappingers dwelled there. In fact, local legend has it
that the infamous deal struck by the Dutch to purchase Manhattan for
twenty-four dollars worth of trinkets took place beneath a tulip tree at a
Wappinger village here. That would have been the first recorded
international trade to take place on this land. Curious that we should now,
in the wake of such a cruel act as the one visited upon the World Trade
Center, finally enter beneath the giant canopy of the ancient trees after
all those years of worshiping them from afar.
We had not walked more than a few hundred yards when I realized how old
most of the trees around me were. As one who has spent the past decade
involved with efforts to defend the few remaining old-growth stands in the n
ortheastern US from destruction by the forces of greed and ignorance, I've
had the privilege of being in the company of experts like Bob Leverett who
helped me understand the science and sensibilities that define our rooted
elders. At Inwood Park it seemed I'd found myself among them once again. The
girth and height of the oak, tulip, sycamore and other species was
awe-inspiring. Their majestic presence drew me out of my earlier
bewilderment into being in conscious company with the primordial emissaries
of wilderness. The transition was literally stunning. We scaled the western
most heights, past caves said to have been inhabited by Native people as
late as the 1920s, and passing more giant trees, we reached the ridge
overlooking the ever-flowing Hudson River. From here the destruction
downtown was no longer visible. All one could see was a vast panoramic sweep
of the river and the palisades on its far side. To our backs stood those
giants of the eastern woodlands, still rooted in the polluted soil of this
ancient land, still breathing this now tainted air, still living as
testament to the power of Creation, even while suffering from the ills of
our so-called civilization. If those wondrous specimens of life can prevail
here and now, then why not us?
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