very interesting essay, I had to read it twice, slowly. I would like to be slow like the raindrops in your forest, but ‘I would like’ is too hasty. Did you study Chinese? I like the imagery of modern humanity as a flood spilling out of its channels; I especially like the three ghosts. I think that now, I can never rid myself of Remembering Before, Being Alone and Disquiet; they will sit there quietly, when I muse about life.
The graph you included in the piece says almost all that needs saying. I read the other day that 'the wild land mammals alive today have a combined biomass of 22 million tons; marine mammals account for another 40 million tons. By contrast, humans weigh in at 390 million tons - and if you throw in our livestock and our pets, that adds another 690 million.' We outnumber and overwhelm the world, and it is our loss.
A long while ago, she has gone now, I knew a young artist, whose team refined potters clay to make a living. For a festival she made a mountain of clay and a simple sprinkle of 'rain'. This ran for the festival and history was recorded.
Such is imagination. I would be hard pressed if non-human nature didn't talk to me, usually modestly as is nature, confiding, but occasionally tough and insistent about realities..
From a long poem Albion's Land -. In The State of Our Desire' ...
I feel something missing here, in the sadness and the grief of seeing nature despoiled. Part of me also hates to see the green past buried beneath the concrete. But part of me feels the exhilaration still when seeing the mountains moved, and nature mastered and transformed according to the Will. I rejoice at the acceleration and the noise. I marvel even at the mushroom cloud.
We see our child on the ultrasound screen, and my wife guarantees her future health with the right nutrients based on a battery of tests, impossible until the very recent past. If we were all Confucians then the birth would be a dreaded unknown.
Breathe the wind and sense the tang of jet exhausts! See Seoul's subway sprawl from Imjingang to Chuncheonsi! Hear the triumphant shout of Faust, of Prometheus -- of Lucifer!
'I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
War, 24 hours' drive to the east of here, means a tree yields 3,000€ in firewood now. We have 50 or so fewer mature oak & beech around since January, thanks to this. But I have a wood burner and, consequently many ghosts.
The bats were feeding this evening, looping around my space and wildflowers are appearing 'early' on my patch. I feel impermanent and a sense of satisfying humility as I think about planting this year's tomato seeds tomorrow. Me and the ghosts.
A beautiful reflection. Much to ponder.
very interesting essay, I had to read it twice, slowly. I would like to be slow like the raindrops in your forest, but ‘I would like’ is too hasty. Did you study Chinese? I like the imagery of modern humanity as a flood spilling out of its channels; I especially like the three ghosts. I think that now, I can never rid myself of Remembering Before, Being Alone and Disquiet; they will sit there quietly, when I muse about life.
The graph you included in the piece says almost all that needs saying. I read the other day that 'the wild land mammals alive today have a combined biomass of 22 million tons; marine mammals account for another 40 million tons. By contrast, humans weigh in at 390 million tons - and if you throw in our livestock and our pets, that adds another 690 million.' We outnumber and overwhelm the world, and it is our loss.
A beautiful meditation.
Lao Dan walked on, not thinking about Wensleydale.
A wee like heart isn’t enough. The stream and flood analogy is superb.
Thankyou, thankyou.
A long while ago, she has gone now, I knew a young artist, whose team refined potters clay to make a living. For a festival she made a mountain of clay and a simple sprinkle of 'rain'. This ran for the festival and history was recorded.
Such is imagination. I would be hard pressed if non-human nature didn't talk to me, usually modestly as is nature, confiding, but occasionally tough and insistent about realities..
From a long poem Albion's Land -. In The State of Our Desire' ...
"Imagination bereft in moonlight
Knowledge left without substance
Haunts its own dreams
A ghost in what was home"
I feel something missing here, in the sadness and the grief of seeing nature despoiled. Part of me also hates to see the green past buried beneath the concrete. But part of me feels the exhilaration still when seeing the mountains moved, and nature mastered and transformed according to the Will. I rejoice at the acceleration and the noise. I marvel even at the mushroom cloud.
We see our child on the ultrasound screen, and my wife guarantees her future health with the right nutrients based on a battery of tests, impossible until the very recent past. If we were all Confucians then the birth would be a dreaded unknown.
Breathe the wind and sense the tang of jet exhausts! See Seoul's subway sprawl from Imjingang to Chuncheonsi! Hear the triumphant shout of Faust, of Prometheus -- of Lucifer!
'I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.'
We are that falcon.
War, 24 hours' drive to the east of here, means a tree yields 3,000€ in firewood now. We have 50 or so fewer mature oak & beech around since January, thanks to this. But I have a wood burner and, consequently many ghosts.
The bats were feeding this evening, looping around my space and wildflowers are appearing 'early' on my patch. I feel impermanent and a sense of satisfying humility as I think about planting this year's tomato seeds tomorrow. Me and the ghosts.
Really loved reading these reflections.