By Wayne Allensworth To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour… The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. A survey of October skies. As I walk and watch and experience the change of seasons, however gradual in this part of the world. But still there, still...
By Wayne Allensworth Human beings live in webs of relationships — relationships that overlap but are prioritized by most people in most places, in most times, by proximity. These priorities are the basis of moral teachings which, when codified and extended to all members of a polity in law, become institutionalized, at least in theory. But the oldest rules of all, the ones we know without needing...
By Wayne Allensworth A French TV documentary from the 2000s showed Amazonian rainforest tribesmen reacting to images of the modern world. Their eyes were wide with amazement — and, I think, some sense of sadness, even of foreboding. Their reaction to astronauts on the Moon was one of dismay, much, as I recall, like that of my great grandmother, who viewed the landings as somehow blasphemous. The...
By Wayne Allensworth Our conscious memory is like a mist that covers the summit of a vast, awesome mountain. Brain scientists say that we retain memories of everything that ever happened to us. Under hypnosis, or during a near-death experience, a panorama of one’s life can be drawn out of the mist. And sometimes memories veiled by the unconscious mind can still, they say, affect our conscious...
By Wayne Allensworth The picture remains embedded in my memory. An old man — my paternal grandfather — touching a name carved into a stone wall. The wall was a monument erected to honor fallen servicemen from Houston. It was early summer and hot, as sticky hot as it gets down there. It was the only time I ever saw him get emotional about the loss of his oldest son, my namesake, in a time that was...
By Wayne Allensworth What follows is an excerpt from a piece I wrote a couple of years ago that remains relevant: Our people must begin reconsidering their history. Where they came from and where we wish to go. An end to foreign adventures and to militarism should be one of our aims. That’s the best way to honor the memory of the fallen. Perhaps we should also take more time to honor another kind...
By Wayne Allensworth On Easter Sunday before the service, I was sitting in church and watching the congregants come in. What I saw gave me some cause for hope. A few of the ladies wore hats — “Easter bonnets,” we called them in the past — and low and behold, a few of the children were dressed up. Dresses, ties, little jackets. It’s not that I think God cares what people wear. It’s about us...
By Wayne Allensworth A scene near the end of David Lean’s The Bridge on the River Kwai resonates with the older me. Colonel Nicholson, played by the great Alec Guiness, is walking the length of the bridge built by British soldiers in a Japanese POW camp under the colonel’s supervision. He pauses and looks out over the waters of the river and notes that he has had a good life and career, but that...
By Wayne Allensworth This piece originally appeared in Chronicles Magazine some years ago. I thought it appropriate to repost it as Holy Week begins. On Palm Sunday, I took a walk. It’s the first day of spring and the sky shows China blue, decorated with small cotton-like puffs of clouds. Flowers are blooming and the ducks at the pond have laid their eggs. The beaver are back—I can tell by the...
By Wayne Allensworth Rows of trees that have finally lost their leaves line a wide path that runs between fences around houses and a business park near my home. The long, wide belt of grass is a sort of unofficial nature sanctuary in an area where the suburbs have crept into the countryside. I often walk there and if I don’t avert my line of sight from the path, I can imagine I am far from the...
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