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north
humans are inherently
self-directed creatures.
whenever we walk, drive, or point
somewhere, it feels like north,
as if the world shifts on its axis
to suit us, not us shifting to suit the world.
when all is north, mothers are mean
to children, boyfriends are mean to girlfriends,
selves are mean to selves.
we pretend that we are the causes,
when the effects will exist long after us,
just as the trees, the roads, the mothers,
and all that is mean existed long
before us. we cannot stop from going south,
and yet believe
there is something particularly extraordinary
in any journey northwards. how do we center
ourselves, you may ask. be kind
to the trees, to the children, to the selves.
and when you walk, drive, or point,
look around and see that all that is beautiful
precedes you, not from above, but from within.
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For a long time, I’ve been struggling with religion. I came to the conclusion a while ago that I don’t believe in an afterlife, but sometimes I feel like I should, even though I don’t. I also feel like believing in an afterlife sometimes makes people forget the beauty that surrounds them right here on Earth. The idea for this poem came to me when driving with my family to Lake George. We were surrounded by trees, a clear sky, small creeks, and blue silhouettes of distant mountains. I couldn’t shake the thought that the natural world is beautiful in a way human nature could never be. I wrote this to commemorate that beauty.