Commentary

“Remember” by Joy Harjo

A brilliant sky made of stained glass

Art by @awe.and.devotion

Remember

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

-Joy Harjo

“Remember” by Joy Harjo

Get the Sunday Poem

Sign up for the newsletter to receive a mystical poem every Sunday.

    An Era of Forgetting

    We live in an era of forgetting. Perhaps our ancestors once knew the voice of the wind, and learned from her the secrets of the origin of the universe. Perhaps they remembered that they were this universe, and this universe is them.

    But we need to be reminded. As a society, we have forgotten “the plants, trees, animal life who all have their/tribes, their families, their histories, too.” We have forgotten “the dance language is, that life is.”

    The ancient Greek word for truth is “alethia,” which translates as “not to forget.” Truth, then, is related to remembering. Perhaps the “true” way of seeing the world is not rooted in literalism, but in the more soulful way of remembering Harjo describes in her poem.

    A teacher once told me, “All real learning is remembering.” He meant that knowing myself and the world was not a matter of learning new information, but remembering the true way of seeing.

    The Price of Forgetting

    Our forgetting has had drastic consequences – not only for ourselves, but for the whole world Thomas Berry says, “We are talking only to ourselves. We are not talking to the rivers, we are not listening to the wind and stars. We have broken the great conversation. By breaking that conversation we have shattered the universe. All the disasters that are happening now are a consequence of that…”

    Western civilization has come to be defined by this forgetting. Our relentless consumerism at the expense of the natural world has brought us to a point of global crisis. Bill Plotkin describes the state we find ourselves in in his book, Wild Mind: A Field Guide to the Human Psyche.

    We’re all in recovery from Western civilization. Sooner or later, we each must address the paramount addiction in the Western and Westernized worlds: our psychological dependence on the world-view and lifestyle of Western civilization itself. The Western worldview says, in essence, that technological progress is the highest value, and that we were born to consume, to endlessly use and discard natural resources, other species, techno-gadgets, toys, and, often, other people, especially if they’re poor or from the global South. It’s a world of commodities, not entities; of consumers, not human beings; and economic expansion is the primary measure of progress. Profits are valued over people, money over meaning, our national entitlement over global peace and justice, “us” over “them.” This addiction to Western civilization… is by far the most dangerous one in the world because of how rapidly and extensively it’s undermining the natural systems of Earth. Addiction to Western civilization protects us from seeing and feeling the staggering price all Earthly life pays for our consumer habit. And it protects us from having to make any radical changes in lifestyle, or from having to grow up, leave the “home” of our adolescent comforts, and embark upon the hazardous journey of initiation that leads to an existence that’s life enhancing, meaningful, and fulfilling.

     Bill PlotkinWild Mind: A Field Guide to the Human Psyche

    Remembering

    The antidote is, as Harjo implores, to “Remember.”

    What moves me most about this poem is that “remembering” is not confined to the transcendent realm that many spiritual masters speak of. It is not simple a remembering of our cosmic origins, of the great peace of transcendent reality that underlies everything – though it certainly includes that.

    It is also a remembering of our place at home “in the family of things,” (as Mary Oliver describes it), of the sacred bond of relationship that we have with the rest of the world. It is a remembrence of the sacredness of the earth and all manifest reality.

    We do not just remember that we “are this universe and this/universe is you.” We also remember that “we are earth.”

    We are at vital time in human history. We must choose between succumbing to the age of greed-driven extinction and radically reforming every aspect of our society to live in balance with the natural world. If we are to attempt the latter, we must “remember.”

    A practice

    Meditate with Joy Harjo’s poem, “Remember.” Sit quietly in a place you will not be disturbed (I recommend somewhere outdoors, but anywhere will do). Read each line slowly, taking it into your whole being. Feel each line in your body. After you read each line, feel what it feels like to remember that.

    When you have finished reading the poem, meditate on the question of how you can live this remembering in your everyday life.

    Take this poem into your daily life. When you feel the wind, listen for her voice. When you encounter animals, plants, and trees, remember “all have their/tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,/listen to them.”

    Get the Sunday Poem

    Sign up for the newsletter to receive a mystical poem every Sunday.