Yesterday evening Dave and I took our dog, Butler, on a walk in one of the two parks within walking distance of our home. It was a lovely evening - warm and still. We were walking in the quieter of the two parks and as we were strolling along I looked up at the trees into the blue sky just beyond the vibrant, green leaves. I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath and let it out very slowing thinking how at that moment I felt absolutely peaceful and complete. To myself, I reflected how I always feel this way while in nature and wondered if it's a universal human emotion - if it's because it's so close to our ancestral roots, if it's because it's how we're meant to live?
These thoughts quickly took me to the book I'm currently reading called March, by Geraldine Brooks. It is a fictional account of a man named Mr. March, the father from the novel Little Women, while he's away serving in the Civil War. Like a fine piece of dark chocolate - rich with a hint of bitterness - I want to savour each moment, which means I've not gotten very far into the book. Even so, it has been quite insightful and last night's walk seemed to mirror a line from the book; when reflecting upon a heart-wrenching event of his early adulthood, and dissatisfied with the conventional methods offered by organized institutions for finding God, Mr. March wrote, "To me, the divine is that immanence which is apparent in the great glories of Nature and in the small kindnesses of the human heart."
Mmmm..."the great glories of Nature." Indeed it is Nature which feeds the great ball of light in my chest and it's from that place I find hope, faith and happiness. It feels like a reclusive journey in some ways - a feeling that must be felt alone. Still, it's nice to be in the company of those you love the most when feeling such things.
And just now I'm reminded of a line from a poem Bob Dylan wrote for Woody Guthrie which I will end today's blog with:
"And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown" -excerpt from Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie
These thoughts quickly took me to the book I'm currently reading called March, by Geraldine Brooks. It is a fictional account of a man named Mr. March, the father from the novel Little Women, while he's away serving in the Civil War. Like a fine piece of dark chocolate - rich with a hint of bitterness - I want to savour each moment, which means I've not gotten very far into the book. Even so, it has been quite insightful and last night's walk seemed to mirror a line from the book; when reflecting upon a heart-wrenching event of his early adulthood, and dissatisfied with the conventional methods offered by organized institutions for finding God, Mr. March wrote, "To me, the divine is that immanence which is apparent in the great glories of Nature and in the small kindnesses of the human heart."
Mmmm..."the great glories of Nature." Indeed it is Nature which feeds the great ball of light in my chest and it's from that place I find hope, faith and happiness. It feels like a reclusive journey in some ways - a feeling that must be felt alone. Still, it's nice to be in the company of those you love the most when feeling such things.
And just now I'm reminded of a line from a poem Bob Dylan wrote for Woody Guthrie which I will end today's blog with:
"And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown" -excerpt from Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie
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