A Quote by Wendell Berry
I go among trees and sit still. All my stirring becomes quiet around me like circles on water. My tasks lie in their places where I left them, asleep like cattle... Then what I am afraid of comes. I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it, And the fear of it leaves me. It sings, and I hear its song.
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I go among trees and sit still. All my stirring becomes quiet around me like circles on water.
The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of the tall fir trees. It does pipe the gentle song the forest sings on gray days. I hear all the voices calling me. I listen. But I cannot go.
With all of the divisiveness that is going on in the country we live in, so much of it is based around just fear of the other. And anyone who does not look like me, walk like me, talk like me, have sex like me, they're the other and I'm afraid of them. And hopefully we will learn that it's just not scary. There's nothing to be afraid of.
Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, don't I? I'm just like a pile of leaves.
I don't really have a fear of doctors, in the sense that they're going to do something bad to me. I don't have a fear of them eating me, or a fear of needles, or anything like that. I have a fear that I'm feeling completely fine, everything's good, and then when I go there, he's going to tell me something horrible.
How sweet the harmonies of the afternoon!
The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze
His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;
Rich breath of hayfields streams thro' whispering trees;
And birds of morning trim their bustling wings,
And listen fondly--while the Blackbird sings.
By now, the morning sun was just over the horizon and it came at me like a sidearm pitch between the houses of my old neighborhood. I shielded my eyes. This being early October, there were already piles of leaves pushed against the curb—more leaves than I remembered from my autumns here—andless open space in the sky. I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.
Men in their generations are like the leaves of the trees. The wind blows and one year's leaves are scattered on the ground; but the trees burst into bud and put on fresh ones when the spring comes round.
Laughing at fear is one of the best things you can do. When you are afraid, instead of just plunging into panic, laugh. The fear gets really uptight and leaves.
Fear looks both ways but still refuses to cross; fear looks twice and still doesn't leap. ... Fear usually arrives late, inevitably leaves early, and ends up never going out of town at all. Fear is the phantom hand on the back of the neck and the sound of a door opening downstairs when no one is coming home. ... Fear grows poor because it watches others gain wealth but cannot enter the fray; fear grows sick because it eats away at heath even as it fears its diminishment; fear grows old watching others live in ways that seem to threaten-but in reality only enhance-life.
The great sins and fires break out of me like the terrible leaves from the bough in the violent spring. I am a walking fire, I am all leaves.
Much-Afraid, don't ever allow yourself to begin trying to picture what it will be like. Believe me, when you get to the place which you dread you will find that they are as different as possible from what you have imagined, just as was the case when you were actually ascending the precipice. I must warn you that I see your enemies lurking among the trees ahead, and if you ever let Craven Fear begin painting a picture on the screen of your imagination, you will walk with fear and trembling and agony, where no fear is.
So you go away from where you were afraid. Some stay; some go; it's a big difference, leaving the humiliations of childhood, the morbid fear. We didn't have much to say to each other, the ones that left and the ones that stayed. Children get shamed by fear but you can't tell the adults that; they don't care. They make children into dead things like they are. If there's something left alive in you, you run. You run from the poor little child on her knees; fear burned the skin off all right; she's still on her knees, dead and raw and tender.
If you wake up one morning realising that you do not know anything, then you are awake. If you still think you know something, then you are still asleep. If you are still trying to know, you are still trying to control. If you are still trying to control then you still think something can 'go wrong'. If you still think something can go wrong then you are not in touch with the source. If you are not in touch with the source then you live in fear. You are living in the fear that you have created, and that you are trying to get away from.
I think writing for me has always been a matter of fear. Writing is fear and not writing is fear. I am afraid of writing and then I'm afraid of not writing.
"Animal" is my favorite song because it's a reminder for me every night when I step on to stage that I am no longer a slave to fear. It's something I need to be reminded of constantly because fear is relentless. It will always continue to swing at me and this song is my armor and defense. It's my anthem in a sense to say fear will not hinder me anymore.
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