Hello Gentle Reader
Summer has come and now it is departing. The nights and evenings grow longer. A slight triumph for the preceding events that will happen. Soon the world grows colder. The plants appear to be dying. The earth grows hard. Water freezes. The sky becomes low and the clouds appear to devour even the horizon. At times when the mood strikes and a mood of contemplation strikes me, I wonder what the first human beings must have thought about it. The changing seasons. When summer and spring had faded into remenates of memories. What had the first intelligent human beings thought? Just stepping outside of the primordial soup, in which they languished with such ignorance. What they must have thought about the plants shedding their leaves. Already accustomed to the way the natural world, and their part in it. As the ground grew cold and a slight chill in the air nipped their skin. Had the earth appeared, less beautiful and wonderful – slowly it was falling into the clutches of winter, and it appeared to gain the concept that the world itself was dying and ending. What a horrible scene it must have been. People could barely scratch a living to survive on as it was. Now their demise was surely looking in them in the face, as a reflection on an ice covered pond. Most of them may have died. Though somehow the human race has always had a sense of resilience that counter-balances out its own ignorance and stupidity. How fast had they learned what they needed to do in order to survive. They were already well aware, that they needed, eat and drink in order to survive. They were well aware of mating process and rituals, as instincts had guided their mechanisms in that area. Maternal knowledge knew how to take care of the child. However, they soon learned how to advance quick enough in order to survive. Though I still wonder, how long had they had to suffer? How many had to die in order for a doable solution was discovered? This time of year, every time, there is a feeling in my stomach. A fluttering of nerves. Anxiety creeping up from the deepest chinks of my body. Slowly flooding and pouring into my whole body. I love autumn. The coolness of the weather, the enjoyable feeling of harvest and celebration. Yet all it still makes my stomach flutter. My body giddy with a slight sense of dread and excitement. I wonder if this natural clock hidden in my body comes from my own primeval ancestors who could barely distinguish rock as a tool or as a weapon. From a helpful instrument in catching food or to a insidious murderous device.
“The Guardian,” newspaper in England in their culture section devoted to books, has an article on their website about writers and walking. When I first read the headline “Path to Enlightment: how walking inspires writers,” my first thought went to an author who is well known for his books about psychogeoraphy is Iain Sinclair. His work the author of “London Orbital,” “Ghost Milk,” “Hackney That Rose-Red Empire,” “Downriver,” and other such books. Each one traces the geography of an area. Each one observes the traces of how the geography shapes and influences the characteristics and personalities of people who witness those areas. Environment is surely something that is also important to the shaping of a character. Its influences, vibrates within the very being of individuals. Yet walking is one of the grand aspects of life, and of living. Tracing old haunts and visiting old ghosts of memory of childhood long sine past. The article traces such authors as Rousseau and Wordsworth – romantic individualists. The authors were not just walking in the physical world that surrounded them. They were walking into their own inner world. The place where the Genesis of their work had just begun. These authors are dreamers. People who use the form of walking as a form of meditation. They thought, they contemplated. They questioned. The swing of the arms. The rhythm and rhyme of the breath. The beating of the heart. Step by step. Forwards and onwards. Moving to not a particular physical destination but the act of motion and moving was a form of meditation. The world unwinds and unravels at the seams. One finally is able to see the loose and frayed bits of thread holding the seams of the world together. The world fades out of the picture. The thoughts use the surrounding landscape like a projector screen. Viewing and shifting. Edited by the individual. The beauty does not become a profound metaphor, or an ironic aphorism. It is just there. Deprived of meaning. Devoid of any sense of extraordinary sense of wonder. But it is not destitute of beauty.
I don’t think that walking makes a great writer. However that being said it is a nice way to air ones thoughts out and think about what they are writing. Such great writers have walked. Traversing the world and in doing so allows them to diverse their own world. Alienating them away from others, yet allow some deep sense of meaning of their own work and ability to portray that to others. Even to this day their work strikes a chord. Walking is nothing special. Walking is part of life. We walk in the malls. We walk at work. We walk at home. Up and down the stairs. The act itself is a human ability. An action taken for granted. However it is still the most wonderful way to spend a lazy day, just strolling or walking, being lost in ones thoughts with no purpose in mind.
These days are always full of a sense of being purpose driven. However at times just strolling being whimsical is always a nice cure for the sense of being over pressured. To this day I still plan on walking through different places of the world. Stroll through Parisian streets, gawk and stare with macabre admiration at the Paris Catacombs; walk through the German Black Forest. See the world, as it should be seen. Through eyes without a purpose. Without a feeling that each step needs to be taken. To get back on the bus and travel to the next tourist destination. Personally I’d much prefer to explore and to feel, explore everything at my own pace, rather then forced and pushed to the next destination. Sounds rather stressful and not very relaxing.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
