Ownership is an Illusion: Lessons from Margaret Atwood’s “The Moment”
The Moment
Margaret Atwood
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
Reflection
We spend our lives “planting the flag.” We chase titles, deeds, and digital footprints, convinced that labor equates to lordship over our surroundings. But what happens when the land speaks back?
Margaret Atwood’s “The Moment” captures the chilling epiphany that occurs at the peak of human achievement. Just as we stand in the center of our “square mile” to claim it, the natural world withdraws its consent. Atwood suggests that our sense of possession is a fragile construct; the trees, the air, and the cliffs do not recognize our boundaries. In contemporary society, where we are increasingly alienated from the environment and obsessed with “hustle culture,” this poem serves as a radical wake-up call. We are not the masters of the earth; we are merely visitors passing through a landscape that was never lost to begin with. By shifting our perspective from “owning” to “belonging,” we might finally find the air we need to breathe.
Tags:
As you read this poem, ask yourself: In your daily pursuit of success and possession, are you truly finding your place in the world, or are you merely planting a flag on a hill that does not know your name?
