The Direction of Intention

Alone on the trail we heard a loud pop and then a crack – and then the tree fell. We felt the thud through the soles of our feet.

There was no wind. There was no apparent cause for it to fall. We were, somehow, witness to its final moment as “tree”.

If a tree falls in the woods and someone is around to hear it, it definitely makes a sound. If not? For some reason, in that majestic moment, the quotidian philosophical question popped into my mind and it bothered me. Is human observation really the only validation for existence? Philosopher George Berkeley wrote, “To be is to be perceived.” George didn’t mean perceived by squirrels or hawks or any other critter in the woods at that moment who also heard the sound and felt the fall of the old tree. For humans, philosophers, preachers and politicians alike, human perception is the requirement granting something so grand, something so profound, as existence. How many birds nested in this grand old tree during the course of its life span? How many plants will feed on its fibers now that it has joined the earth?

Hubris is our Achilles Heel.

On our drive to the trail we were rerouted. The road was shutdown in both directions. There was a terrible crash. A car was cleaved, barely recognizable. Certainly there were witnesses to this loud final moment of a human-being pass into non-being. I’m grateful I was not one of them. I do not need to have seen or heard the crash to know that it happened.

Perhaps that is why the question bothered me: “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” In a single day, in the space of an hour, I was witness to a tree falling in the woods and aware of a human life ending. I heard the tree so I have no need to imagine what happened. I saw the car, the evidence of the end of human life. I can only imagine.

Horatio wrote a beautiful poem about the death of a salmon after its struggle to return to its place of origin. It’s a poem about the impossibility of life and the cycle of constant renewal. The poem offers we-the-perceivers some rare perspective on the end of life.

I wondered how I could read the days news about starvation in Gaza, brutal raids and deportations without due process…and simply turn the page. That, too, must be uniquely human. To perceive and then tune out. To look the other way, to pretend not to perceive when human beings enact horror upon other human beings. It requires a dedicated lack of imagination.

We are not above it all.

“To be is to be perceived.” Perhaps. It begs an all important follow-up question: In my fleeting moment of human perception, who – or how – do I choose to be?

read Kerri’s blogpost about TINY NAILS

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