Thoughts on California's land
Aug. 18th, 2007 10:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theatokosYesterday I went to Mountainview Cemetery for the afternoon. It's huge, gorgeous park/cemetery near where I live and where I go to get peace and trees and refreshed. It's seriously beautiful, designed by the same guy who designed Central Park in New York. There are so man different kinds of trees: pine, redwood, oak, eucalyptus, palm and many others I don't recognize. There are flowers, not just on the graves, but little tiny purple ones growing as a floor covering between stands of trees or growing wild in the bushes or cultivated in sitting areas. On the edge of the cemetery, up high on the hill, in the dry beige scrub there were bright pink trumpet/lily shaped flowers growing with abandon! It took me by surprise as I rounded the bend - like stumbling upon a prom in the middle of a forgotten industrial complex. It made me smile. And the birds and the butterflies and dragonflies..... so much life.
I realized this week that I consider cemeteries to be about life, not death. A friend of mine told me that cemeteries make her think of ghosts and make her nervous. I'm not afraid of death, not that I want to die anytime soon, and I don't know anything about ghosts. But cemeteries, like cathedrals and other sacred sites, give me a peaceful, supported feeling. When I was living in Ireland I attended Christ Church Cathedral, the base of which had been laid in the 900s. I find it powerful and humbling and comforting to think about all the people over the centuries who had sat there worshiping as I was, or doubting, or repentent, or hopeful, or bored - just like me. My doubts and desires are not so monumental when I think that way. And like sacred spaces, cemeteries (also sacred spaces in their own way) remind me that I'm not alone. All of those people had lives and loves. It's hard to imagine what 2075 will be like (I'll be 100) and I'm sure that the people whose graves were erected in 1816 had no idea about what the future held either. I feel very much in the embrace of humanity when I'm in a graveyard. Comforted. Curious. More alive in the here and now.
During my walking I was reminded of some thoughts I had when I was camping in the Santa Cruz mountains last weekend. While wandering around a field and sitting amongst the redwoods I realized that California, it's land and nature, is welcoming, friendly, down right inviting. The open forest floors and fields, the colorful plants and flowers, the climate, all of these things are inviting. The land welcomes new friends and asks to be known. It's no wonder that people flock here. California is beautiful and easy to love. Unlike south east Alaska, which though grand and beautiful, is quite imposing and not easy to know or maybe even love. Aloof, foreboding, dark, dense, wet - the forests and fjords and mountains and climate make it hard to know. Unlike California, which is inviting (that word keeps coming to m mind), SE Alaska is a reluctant, demanding, difficult lover. It is an interesting comparison.
I realized this week that I consider cemeteries to be about life, not death. A friend of mine told me that cemeteries make her think of ghosts and make her nervous. I'm not afraid of death, not that I want to die anytime soon, and I don't know anything about ghosts. But cemeteries, like cathedrals and other sacred sites, give me a peaceful, supported feeling. When I was living in Ireland I attended Christ Church Cathedral, the base of which had been laid in the 900s. I find it powerful and humbling and comforting to think about all the people over the centuries who had sat there worshiping as I was, or doubting, or repentent, or hopeful, or bored - just like me. My doubts and desires are not so monumental when I think that way. And like sacred spaces, cemeteries (also sacred spaces in their own way) remind me that I'm not alone. All of those people had lives and loves. It's hard to imagine what 2075 will be like (I'll be 100) and I'm sure that the people whose graves were erected in 1816 had no idea about what the future held either. I feel very much in the embrace of humanity when I'm in a graveyard. Comforted. Curious. More alive in the here and now.
During my walking I was reminded of some thoughts I had when I was camping in the Santa Cruz mountains last weekend. While wandering around a field and sitting amongst the redwoods I realized that California, it's land and nature, is welcoming, friendly, down right inviting. The open forest floors and fields, the colorful plants and flowers, the climate, all of these things are inviting. The land welcomes new friends and asks to be known. It's no wonder that people flock here. California is beautiful and easy to love. Unlike south east Alaska, which though grand and beautiful, is quite imposing and not easy to know or maybe even love. Aloof, foreboding, dark, dense, wet - the forests and fjords and mountains and climate make it hard to know. Unlike California, which is inviting (that word keeps coming to m mind), SE Alaska is a reluctant, demanding, difficult lover. It is an interesting comparison.