You Are Not Lost, You Are Here

Welcome back, regular readers. And hello to all the curious new souls.

So earlier this week, I stumbled upon a reel in which Irish poet David Whyte was talking about the power of poetry in guiding us in life. 

He points out how Dante’s The Divine Comedy is an astonishing roadmap of life, and how “many poets have left footprints in the snow that you can follow.”

He gives another example and mentions a poem called ‘Lost’ by David Wagoner.  It’s a short poem, so Whyte goes on to recite it, and when he finishes, at that exact moment, I made up my mind that this is definitely what I want to discuss in Think About It this week.

You will know why when you read it yourself.

So here’s it:

Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the beauty, simplicity, and flow of this piece.

Now, Whyte describes this poem as a teaching story. A story that would be told to a young kid who would ask the question: What do I do when I'm lost in the forest?

It makes sense because Wagoner was born in Ohio and raised in Indiana (not to be confused with India because of the picture above 😆), but later he moved to the Pacific Northwest. The nature and wilderness of the region changed both his outlook and his poetry. He’s often called a nature poet. This poem reflects that.

Now, that is just the poem in its literal sense, or we can say that it is surface-level.

But slow down and read closely. You will realise that it’s not just about physical orientation. Wagoner’s poem reveals a deeper philosophy about presence, acceptance, and humility before the world around you.

It applies to anyone who is stuck or ‘lost’. That is basically all of us, at least at some point in our lives. This is what makes this timeless and relevant to any generation.

The tone of the poem is commanding, like how a general would talk to his soldiers. The start “Stand still,” absolutely feels like that. It’s also the poem's most important command. It's an instruction to stop panicking, to stop pushing forward blindly when you’re lost. By standing still, you create the space to re-engage with your environment.

The following line, “The trees ahead and bushes beside you/ Are not lost,” is reassuring and comforting. It flips the perspective. It tells you that you might be lost, but pay attention to your surroundings. They are never lost.

Next, when Wagoner writes "Wherever you are is called Here," he's making a profound philosophical point about presence and place. Every location is "Here" to itself - complete, particular, alive with its own reality. Notice capital H in "Here"; he's treating it almost like a proper name to suggest that every place has its own irreducible identity.

On the surface level, being “lost” is geographical. But beneath the surface, it can be emotional, spiritual, or existential. That’s why, by calling it "Here," Wagoner tells you to accept your current reality rather than trying to escape it.

This line contains a crucial metaphor. Wagoner tells you to treat where you are “as a powerful stranger.”
So why did he write “powerful stranger” and not just stranger one may ask.

I think calling it just a stranger already conveys unfamiliarity. But adding powerful acknowledges that this “stranger” has an agency and force of its own. Nature—or your surroundings—isn’t passive; it can shelter you, inspire you, or overwhelm you. It holds its own rhythms and rules, and you’re stepping into its domain.

With a powerful stranger, you're attentive, humble, curious. You don't assume you already know who they are. So Wagoner is suggesting we need this same respectful attention toward our surroundings as well.

The following lines, “must ask permission to know it and be known,” echo indigenous ideas about reciprocity and respect for place (your surroundings). It’s a worldview in which you don’t treat a place as just coordinates, but as a relationship.

Just as you need to be known to feel real, places also need to be truly seen to reveal themselves. The forest "answers" implies that when you finally pay genuine attention, you start to notice things that were always there but invisible to your distracted mind.

This is another crucial metaphor in the poem. The Raven and the Wren, as creatures of the forest, see it with a specific, detailed awareness. They don't see a generic "forest" but a unique collection of individual trees and branches. Notice how Wagoner uses trees for ravens because they are bigger and branches for wrens because they are tiny.

This is the perspective we as readers are asked to adopt. When you're lost, everything starts to look the same. The poem urges you to look closer, to see the specific, individual details, just as a Raven or Wren would. When you can no longer see the unique qualities of your surroundings, that is the true sign that you are lost.

Here, Wagoner suggests that you shouldn’t see being lost as an external problem. It arises when you don’t know where you are in relation to your environment. He argues that the real problem is internal: it's about being out of tune with your surroundings and, by extension, with yourself.

Towards the end, there’s the same command again: “Stand still.” 

This is a profound and beautiful paradox. We're conditioned to think that when we're lost, we need to do something - move, search, take action. But Wagoner suggests that sometimes the most radical action is non-action.

Now that doesn’t mean giving up; it means you need to surrender the panic and ego that prevents you from seeing clearly. It's a call to trust in the greater, natural intelligence (God, Universe, Divine power… call it whatever you want). It’s a message to stop struggling and allow the environment to guide you.

Overall, I think this is some profound philosophy disguised as nature poetry. Being lost—whether literally or metaphorically in life—is not a state to be feared but an invitation to deepen our attention. That’s a kind of reminder we often need in life.

Before wrapping up, I’ll leave you with something to think about:

• How does the idea of surrendering to a higher, natural order conflict with or complement our modern, action-oriented approach to problem-solving, where we are often told to "take charge" and "make a plan"?

That’s all for this week. Will see you next week.

Until then
Stay Curious

Zaid