Don Gray
Art Essays, Art Criticism & Poems
In a Strange (and Wondrous) Place... A PoemI came to a place, a strange and wondrous place, filled with any kind of creature, plant and scene; a place of growth and bloom, yet based on fiercely strict necessity. A frightening place. I had somehow to live. I had to eat to stay alive; to kill, to seek those foods that would sustain, not poison me. Threat was everywhere. But, all things were made of light, radiant; the sky, green and lustrous trees and grasses. The power of the light burned brightly far above, so fiery I dared not look at it. Sometimes it nearly killed me with its parching heat; other times, it gladdened with welcomed, gentle warmth that took away the chill, made my life magnificent. Water flowed at my feet that might quench my thirst or sweep me away. It fell from on high, drenching the land. I sought shelter under large leaves, overhanging rocks, in caves; commenced, in time, to build structures of shrubs, trees and stones in lightning and high wind. Then the light went away, and utter darkness came. I could not understand this fall from radiance to blackness, broken only by myriad points of bristling light, a shining white disk that came and went, crescent-changed. Fatigue made me sleep, despite my fears, when darkness fell; when light returned, I fought again to stay alive. Then savage tigers prowled that killed my friends. How could such fearsome things come to pass in such a place as this? Even our children died, were killed. Who was safe? Neither young nor old. How could we come to know this place, that was in many ways a paradise, but in so many others, a travail we could neither understand nor survive? We seemed destined to be forsaken, taken by the desperate ways of this strange, implacable place. We could not protect ourselves. We did what we could, of course, to build homes, find food, make weapons...and the light ever turned to darkness, as darkness ever turned to light, leaving us alone in beauty, yes, but danger and desolation. We wondered. What, if anything, had made this complex place, made us, set us in such mixed condition of wonder, fear, bewilderment? How could we resolve our lives, our destinies? For what purpose were we placed here? Then we realized -- needed to believe – that we were part of a grand creation, no issue out of place. Despite chaos, there was a great order -- if a violent one – we hoped was cognizant of us, had created our lives and the great rhythm -- was the great rhythm – that moved from light to darkness, from warm to cool, wet to dry, forest to desert, east to west, earth to sky. We knew a great mystery, great maker of mysteries who partook of all things, brooks and trees, rocks, leaves, grass; was in all things; was all things. Surely, this was the meaning we sensed and saw, required, hoped was there, everywhere. The meaning we needed for our lives, some semblance of purpose, peace. This meaning was in us, was us, beyond us, might protect, look after us, forever, despite the taking of our lives, our children's lives; the sufferings and joys that were ours to endure, weep in wounded wonder. We asked the great rhythm to care for us, care about us. This weaver of rhythms might be unknowable, predictable only in the certainty of light and darkness, beauty, suffering, death -- the uncertainty of his response to our needs – but, he was still the one who made us, made this place; the only one we knew, the only one we had. Better to have belief in such a maker of such a place, than left alone with none at all. Copyright by Don Gray
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