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07/06/10 - (3)
Reflections on Lake Nebagamon
Two years, two months, and two days — The time, mythic passage, duration of the ecstatic season Thoreau spent at his cabin, outside Concord, Massachusetts, Reading the trees, listening to the humble water, Dialoguing with flowers, fish, fowl, land animals, stars, Contemplating the soul that is perpetually evolving, Enfolded in nature's daily disclosing, ever-changing embrace, Probing, pondering, plumbing the astounding surrounds of Walden Pond, Asking the unanswerable questions, Meditating on the existential and metaphysical conundrums That make the world come alive, in the questing, curious mind, The sensitive, intellectual, intuitive, prescient, prophetic psyche Seeking out the various incontestable reasons for existence, Joys beyond the exigencies and vicissitudes of routine being, The few choices among the multiplicity of competing voices. This same enterprise, these same pursuits, this same obsession Are what I, in my regular peregrinations to Lake Nebagamon, Over the past four years, Educating myself to the uncivilized woods, ungovernable wilds, Have followed, as my aging's enlightened calling. Content with the lapping of fluid molecules, against my cabin's dock, I dream of that other cabin, that mythic habitation, that pond, Where that young Yankee came to locate his purpose. Looking down at the water, I hear his reflection gazing up at me, Insisting, still, that I "simplify, simplify" my life.
07/06/10 - (3)
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