Upended

If you run inside my peripheral circle then you've already heard the mantra on the birch of alaska...

and I quote:

[the matchstick birch lines up
meticulously,
shielding my more common
persona and allowing the
development of pieces of me
I would desire,
and have been striving
to present with bird-like freedom
carelessness and pick-up-and-go traits.

but still on off days where I retreat too far in
I uncover the poor-first-impression and
the running against time
that has always been there.... 07.03.07]


Indeed, from a distance the vertically linear birch and aspen present a perfect alignment of natural organization. So straight, so seemingly with-care-placed, they suggest a certain order to things. Overcoming the dry and mangle-y black spruce on the south sides of things and seeking higher ground, they seem to dig themselves out of boggy trenches stand atop the hill, looking down...

...and I mean let's face it, who wants to settle for the murky life in a low-lying swamp anyway? (as a spokesperson for muddling, I venture no-one. I've spent my last year or so digging out of that sort of existence.)

But I digress...

As we humans know, all "order" maintains at its core some element of chaos; the swirling epicenter from which all control, all organization, originates. We journey to the center and seek the eye of the storm (where we can stand tall, still and birch-straight) through careful navigation (there's only one way into it) knowing full-well the threat of upheaval is always looming, not unlike the path of an unpredictable, tumulting tornado-storm. I'm learning only a select few of us find satisfaction in the act of being tumbled more than achieving the inner eye.

"Out back" in the boreal forest, where I work, where black spruce and those soldier-straight birch co-exist, the thaw is slow, the ground wet. There, last week, I turned on a dime to see one solitary birch tree tossed on its side and exposed at the roots, as if toppled over by whimsy or consequence. Order subjected to the storm of natural unpredictability. "Upended tree" I said aloud.

My metaphor-seeking, ever-internalizing mind went to work, as "upended" tends to find itself on the list of words to describe transitions in the phases of my life quite often. Through most of these transitions the upending has been associated with internal confusion, frustration, disappointment, at times even temporary surrender. But these days the swirling movement which encircles coincides with all things good.

As I stood admiring this fallen birch, all vulnerable with roots exposed, I thought: is upending always detrimental? In human terms, for those whose lives resemble the shape of a square, I propose the answer is "indeed". Thwarting plans where all four sides adjoin makes the square-shape become categorically undefined. Sure we all might, by human nature, attempt to organize a stick-straight-birch life-course as far in front as the eye can see, but only the malleable, intuitive and progressive souls can appreciate, no embrace, an unexpected overturning. I've got arms for mine.