Wednesday, September 3, 2008

you know you're alive

Growing up blocks away from the beach made it easy as a kid to go anytime. In the wintertime it is probably the most awe-inspiring (and during a hurricane). When my family got a dog, it gave us even a better reason to venture into the blistering wind. My dad who never wanted the dog to begin with became her "boyfriend" and she was his "girlfriend." I considered their lengthy walks on the beach on those chilly winter days their dates. Those winter days are the ones that woke me up from whatever I was sleeping from. The coldness makes everything feel isolated. The roads are completely empty. Hotel pools have been relieved of tourists. The wind makes the misty snow twirl in the air. Dillard says, "Today is one of those excellent January party cloudies in which light chooses an unexpected part of the landscape to trick out in gilt, and then shadow sweeps it away. You know you're alive. You take huge steps, trying to feel the planet's roundness arc between your feet." p. 5

Other than feeling awestruck by nature, I don't know how to explain my relationship with nature. For the most part, I am appreciative. I am especially appreciative for the wind. I really like the wind. I like how intangible it is. I like that it comes from nearly nothing. It practically is nothing. I appreciate nature for things I know and don't know. I think if I knew every detail of nature, it would somehow ruin all my feelings for it.

I go for walks a lot of the time. The wintertime is probably my favorite time to go. At the Jersey Shore, wintertime shows you how scarce a place can become. It gives you a glimpse of what it would be like if humans dropped off the face of the planet. I think the desolation just causes wonder. I especially like when Dillard says "...light chooses an unexpected part of the landscape to trick out in gilt." It reminds me of when I was little and thought the rays of the sun poking through the clouds were picking up the soul's of dead people. As I got older I learned that a lot of people die, and that event just doesn't happen enough. 

The past two and a half years I've drastically changed my lifestyle to be more conscious about my decisions.  I'm what you call a picky eater AKA vegan. Hardly eat out. Like certain foods. Only eat certain foods. I think since then my relationship with nature has become better. At least I think she likes me better. I do know my future relationship with nature will be harmonious. 

1 comment:

Tree. said...

When I came across the monumental feeling of "knowing you're alive" in Pilgrim I immediately felt tousled by the words. I had a discussion with one of my friends a few weeks ago about the uncertainty of existence. We waded in and out of recognizing each moment as truly 'existing'; where we were, what we were doing, who we are and were with. And beyond, for there could be more than what words we use to perceive our world. And so, the conception of being alive has stunned me since. I am sure I know what it feels like to be alive, I am confident that I've felt it at times where it felt rash to deny it. And this goes to say that I have felt more alive in particular moments than others, which I find interesting, because, why don't we feel consistently animate? How can we use that word to tie the sense of feeling in our souls and the concrete science of being breathing or not?
I may not know the answers to my own questions, but I can tell certain times where I have felt especially 'alive'. Many of the times of which that have been influenced by the conditions of the environment around me. Water has always been a constituent of powerful feeling and holiness in me. Maybe for the reason that I have always felt this way and that I have glowing memories of iridescent reflections morphing around me by the lakeside is why I am still so fond of the water. But possibly because of its ability to reflect by retracting, expanding and engulfing the images of which surround it. It may not be a truthful mirror reflection, but how could we know that the solid images are candid beyond what we can see anyway? Those partly cloudy days are my favorite at the water. The water inspires me in that it becomes a body of sloshing spirals of silver and grey, whereas we often have a conscious memory of water as blue. Then the winds hurtle through the sky, rubbing the susceptible surface of the water to and fro, sometimes swallowing a loose leaf from the shaking trees. There is something powerful about a day like this, and although the sun does not seem present to us, I feel as if the rays have been split all over the sky and the sun is shining onto me in all directions. Sometimes I may not feel alive to my full potential on these days, but at least I can feel live energy vibrating throughout my environment.
I do not like to use the word 'nature' because I have some inner disputes with such an anthropogenic word, but my relationship with my environment and its spirit is indescribably loving. I feel that my entire relationship with my surroundings is love. I have never felt hate, and I can only imagine that everything that happens to me or anywhere in this world is caused by love. Since I would miserably fail at trying to explain such passion that resides from all that is bare inside me, I can only say what relationship I have with environmental energy is eternal and infinitely powerful. Whether or not I know that I or anything else exists, I know that in my perception of reality and agreement to exist in my mind, that my relationship is very much alive.