To Lose the Madness: Field Notes on Trauma, Loss and Radical Authenticity (Little Bound Books Essay Series) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

L.M. Browning is an award-winning author of twelve books. In her writing, Browning explores the confluence of the natural landscape and the interior landscape. In 2010, Browning debuted with a three-title contemplative poetry series. These three books went on to garner several accolades including a total of 3 pushcart-prize nominations, the Nautilus Gold Medal for Poetry, and Foreword Reviews' Book of the Year Award. She has freelanced for several publications and has a biannual interview column in The Wayfarer Magazine in which she has interviewed dozens of notable creative figures such as Academy Award-Nominated filmmaker Tomm Moore and Peabody-winning host of On Being Krista Tippett. Balancing her passion for writing with her love of learning, Browning is a graduate of the University of London, and a Fellow with the International League of Conservation Writers. In 2011, she opened Homebound Publications, a rising independent publishing house based in Connecticut. She is currently working to complete a L.B.A. in Creative Writing at Harvard University's Extension School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. visit her at www.lmbrowning.com

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“The world that used to nurse us now keeps shouting inane instructions.

That’s why I ran to the woods.” –Jim Harrison, Songs of Unreason

Cimarron Valley , New Mexico

The stark golden prairie stretched out to the base of the eastern slopes of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Among the overgrown grasses, dry wooden fences rose. The posts were strung together by braided barbed wire that carried from one pole to the next. Just beyond the wire, we saw them—hulking, horned, billowing heavy breaths through their wide nostrils into the chilled December air.

It was the day after Christmas. We traveled down u.s. Route 64, en route to Taos. We were just outside of Cimarron Valley in northern New Mexico when they came into sight. “Buffalo!” exclaimed Mallory and I simultaneously in the otherwise quiet car. A herd of brown, thick-coated bison flew by the drivers-side window. Mallory quickly pulled a U-turn on the deserted country road. We got out of the car and slowly approached them.

In the language of the Lakhóta, the name for the buffalo is thathánka. The buffalo was held in sacred regard by the tribe. The great animal gave everything it had to the people—its flesh for food, its hide for shelter and clothing, its bone and sinew for everything from needles to tools. The buffalo stands as a symbol of self-sacrifice—it gives until there is nothing left—and in doing so makes life possible for the people.

As I stood there—my creased leather boots breaking through the stiff, frosty grass—I looked dark eye to dark eye—a single female buffalo moved out of the herd and began walking toward me. I was reminded of a painting I saw as a child by Robert Bateman of a buffalo emerging from behind a veil of thick mist. I was transfixed. Here I was broken—a shadow of myself—and she a wild thing, untamed, and strength untold. Some otherworldly grace encircled us. In the space between us, we spoke of the ineffable things—of what it is to sacrifice all of one’s self, of grief, and gratitude—and of the terms every living thing must come to.