Prelude
Pick a place, stay there for an hour and find out what relationship you have with the land. Does this relationship change over the next few week? This is my assignment for one of my classes.
I am picking a place…Lone Fir Cemetery. This cemetery used to be my favorite one; but over the many times I visited I became numb to the beauty of it. This is what I know about the cemetery: it is the oldest cemetery in Portland, the first burial (Stephens) happened in 1846, the land of 30 acres holds the remains of about 25,000 people…. and this is all I know. I also know that this is were I take pictures of what is left of other people’s loved ones…a headstone, often inscribed with a name and sometimes a date as to when they ceased to exist. No stories about their lives, about who they really were, what their dreams were. Today though I am not here to search for what is left of these people. Today I am here to find out if there is more to this place, maybe if there is more to who I am. I used to drive my car onto its roads and “out of respect” I would turn off my radio. Today, I will start walking again.
June 24th
ReplyDeleteParking my car outside the gate…note book…check, pen…check, camera…of course. I have never been to Lone Fir without my camera. Ears and eyes…wide open. I step through the gate and at once notice a crow talking. As I keep walking towards the center its (how do you know if a crow is male or female?) loud voice becomes fainter and another crow takes over. Maybe they are greeting me? Or maybe they are calling out “Intruder Alert!” It is quiet here…well except for the noise of the crow. BUT this noise, if this is what you want to call it, is definitely more appropriate than the running of a car… Three women come jogging by. They make their way through the cemetery talking noisily. Disregard of the sanctity of this place…or maybe bringing life to a place meant for the dead.
I wonder, when did we start having places for the dead? It separates us from a part of life. Maybe it is just a place for memorial…maybe who we think died did not really do so. Maybe they just moved to another place, like moving from here to another city…
This is me looking around. There are four metal benches around a memorial statue. The one I chose has a placard with the words “The life of the dead consists in being present in the minds of the living (Cicero)”. I close my eyes to SEE the sounds. Other birds are talking but I do not understand their language; I am not sure what nationality they belong to – who are they? I hear an airplane above and cars in the distance. The wind is playing a song with the help of trees. I open my eyes and a squirrel is looking at me curiously from about 2 meters away. It seems to be asking “What are you doing here? Did you bring me some nuts?” I promise I will next time I come back. I really promise. The squirrel comes back again and this time I am able to take a picture of it. I will be back next week with some nuts to pay for letting me take the picture of you.
I wish I had more time but reality is calling me back. Reality?