4 hours of trancendentalism...

I live in the city, have for a few months now. Previously I lived in a small town- nature is not a prevalent element in either of these settings. My friend Doug lives in Guilford, where miles of wooded areas are there for the hiking. And today, we took advantage of it. This is an account of our trip, all in all a small adventure.

We left his house sometime around 4 or 4:30 pm, traveling out across his back yard, down a hill that levels out into a cow pasture. Normally the cows are off in another part of the fields, but today they were right there at the edge of the pasture, no more than ten feet beyond the fence that separates the fields from the immediate area surrounding his house (though one could hardly call it a yard, as expansive as it is.) The cows, though visibly nervous, didn't run away, and after standing at the fence for five minutes or so, admiring animals and allowing them to become comfortable with our presence, we climbed over, and slowly made our way through and past them. Such large animals, and really quite stupid; their only concern seems to be whether the nearby life forms are moving quickly or making loud noises, and simply being quiet seems to put them at ease. But enough of that.

We ventured down along side a small creek, crossed it and climbed a hill that led back up toward the road his driveway is attached to. We crossed the road into an orchard, which of course isn't allowed, but it being a Sunday we figured we could sneak through. Also, Doug has lived there for the better part of two decades, and had never set foot in the orchard, contributing to our motivation to test our luck. We ended up on the other side coming to another road, which we had planned on taking down into the woods. On our way, a beagle ran out of its yard, cautiously approached us, and followed us a few feet. We stopped and allowed it to catch our scent, gently reached out to pet it, to ease its apparent fear of us. Makes you wonder what kind of home it has. Well, the dog seemed to like us, because from that point on it followed us the entire trip, and seemed exceptionally happy.

At the bottom of this hill the road takes a ninety degree turn, avoiding a home and a few barns, and also crossing over another creek, this one a bit larger. After a bit of deliberation as to whether the owner of the property would be irritated at us, we decided to descend down into the creek; Doug, in climbing down, nearly stepped on a small snake, which we photographed, then stopped to admire the surroundings. The creek ran along a nearly perfectly flat shelf of rock on the opposite side of the bridge, then fell down onto a lower level (the level we were standing on.) It ran beneath our feet over another small drop; the sound of rushing water filling the air. After a few moments the owner of the house appeared upon the bank we had descended from, apparently having heard our voices. A kind old man, not in the least irritated, but rather just curious. We had a short conversation with him, mostly small talk, then decided to hike down the creek (it was very shallow, and there were rocks through the entire thing that were above the water level. The beagle displayed what almost seemed like fear of the water at first, avoiding it in even the most shallow areas (less than an inch deep on some of the shelf-like surfaces,) but splashing in the water seemed to grow on her, and eventually she was dashing back and forth, up onto the bank bordering the road the creek followed, then across to the other side, just generally having a good time.

Maybe twenty minutes of walking down this creek we noticed a truck parked along side the road up ahead. As we passed it, we noticed that the dog was no longer ahead of us, and looking back, we realized that we had walked right by the corpse of some poor mutt laying in the water, (the beagle of course didn't miss it.) The body was directly next to the parked truck, and one wonders if this was a coincidence. But no one was in the truck, and no one could be seen, so we just continued on. But that image remains with me hours later; one dog discovering that another had died- unsettling, almost eerie. But moving on to things more pleasant.

We started up into the woods on the opposite side of the creek as the road, but decided to take the road out to a railroad bridge that Doug knew. This part of the trip was uneventful, but long. The only thing worth mentioning is that at one point we came to a three way intersection. As we reach it, two motorcycles pull up from one direction, and a car stops coming the other direction. We stop to allow the vehicles to pass, but there is a bit of confusion between the bikers and the car, and there was an awkward thirty seconds or so of all of us sitting at this intersection (Doug and I were standing, of course.) The scene seemed allegorical, heavy in some sense. It's funny looking back, nothing particularly significant or beautiful about the scene (during a trip full of beautiful scenery,) but it sticks with me nonetheless.

Then we reached the railroad bridge. A massive construct over a very large creek; one might consider it a river, though the water doesn't move very quickly, and it probably isn't terribly deep- just deep enough that the bottom is out of sight probably. But we made our way out on a ledge on the massive concrete arch that supported the bridge- a large ledge, large enough to hold 4 or 5 people sitting down. We sat down, dangled our legs off the edge, allowed the dog rest. It was a pretty steep drop, and we aimlessly tossed stones down into the water. Soon the dog began exploring the area, and we continued on. We climbed the hill on the opposite side of the road to reach the railroad tracks, and walked over the bridge. This wasn't a small wooden bridge or anything like that; it was probably thirty feet wide, and it was dirt- held up by a massive concrete arch, as I said before. We stood at the edge of this bridge, admiring the spectacular view, throwing stones down into the water, probably 4 or 5 stories down. After briefly walking down the tracks, we decided to turn back. The rest is fairly uneventful; just beautiful scenery.

But then we reached the dog's house, and the dog didn't want to stop following us. So we started up the driveway, thinking we could get the dog to stay; and it didn't want to come into its own yard. This had both of us a little uneasy, wondering what kind of home life this dog had. So we go up the door of the house; a large house, with a large yard, seemingly perfect for a dog its size. We ring the doorbell and wait almost five minutes with no answer (we thought the inhabitants might have been elderly, hence our waiting so long.) Then we noticed someone jogging over from the neighboring house, probably 100 yards away, so we waited thinking it was the owner. It wasn't- it was a kid that lived in the neighboring house, probably 14 or 15 years old, quiet, and obviously suspicious. We explained the situation, and he said that usually the dog was tied up; almost with undertones of incrimination. He picks up the dog, and begins walking away from the house, in the opposite direction of his own house, behind a barn that sat adjacent to the driveway, and back towards the woods, where 2 or 3 more beagles were tied up to trees, on tethers maybe 6 feet long, out of reach of each other. I felt terrible; this dog was happy because it had its freedom, it came to trust us, and we delivered it unknowingly back into what may well be called a prison. But what can you do.

Consumiris

Watch the sun on that car
The light consumes the iris
Consumes us, creates the wall
Builds the fence between us

In the sitting room sits a box
Keeps our minds, keeps us here
These walls can be a prison
These walls burn will and smoke fear

Stop the car put on the brake
Get out and watch and wait
There are those that need to eat and drink
Your company, to talk, a hand shake

Break the chains of this world
Take a new way, that road of old
Find a way to fit, though the way is small
Get up, get out, break the wall

Short poem

This sand, this land breathes history
Sucking the life out of the air
And we choke to death
We choke to death
We choke to death

Short poem

The blind lead the blind
Because no one sees
The ripples of the stone cast
or the fires fed by the breeze

Histolysis

I found myself talking with an old friend today, one Doug Foster, and somehow we ended up on the subject of histolysis. For those of you who don't know what that is (and don't feel guilty, I didn't either until moments ago when I looked up the scientific term for this process,) it is essentially the act of an organism digesting itself from the inside out. Sounds horrifying, right? Well, this is a stage in a process we all know, that of metamorphosis in insects, particularly moths and butterflies. This is what happens once inside that cocoon; the creature literally digests itself. Most of the old tissue is destroyed, varying in degrees within species, but in some nearly all of the old tissue is destroyed, then reformed into the adult organism- be it a butterfly or a moth. This in and of itself is fascinating- it blows my mind. It doesn't by any means go against evolution, but intuitively the whole process seems absurd. Doug pointed out that the late philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, speaking of evolution, pointed out that nature isn't really all competition and survival of the fittest- though competition seems to fuel much of evolution, there is a lot of time for organisms to be lazy, for nature to be extravagant. Histolysis seems to be a prime example.
But that isn't what I find most remarkable, most unbelievable about the whole process. What is absolutely shocking is that scientists have recently discovered that butterflies and moths can actually RETAIN MEMORY from the larvae stage- that despite much of the brain being DIGESTED, and drastically reorganized, somehow those memories survive.
Here's what they did; while in caterpillar form, the scientists used mild shock therapy to associate shocks with a very potent smell; a smell that originally wasn't avoided by the caterpillar, so that new behavior could be learned; ie, the caterpillars learned to hate the smell that kept shocking them, so they consistently avoided it.
Once the conditioning had set in, the caterpillars were allowed to begin metamorphosis, and once out, the resulting butterflies kept their conditioning- they avoided the smell!
This blows me away- it seems like such an alien thing. I can't help but imagine a larger organism going through the same process. Picture a cow wrapping itself up and then digesting itself, turning into a totally different organism, yet somehow retaining memories- ABSURD!

Here's a link to a story on the subject

http://www.scientificblogging.com/news_releases/study_butterfy_memory_can_recall_uglier_caterpillar_days

word.

This city casts a dark reflection in these murky waters

Skyscrapers run down buildings, and the spaces in between

Form nests of steel and broken homes for the local echoes of life

Is it blind luck that we find ourselves here,

Is there any purpose in the madness of these streets?

There is need here, but there is more want

The line blurs again and again

Until cynicism and spite eat us alive

It takes spirit not to be consumed

To give in, to submit, to become another

The ideal seems a mirage, ever elusive

Yet it is a must, for them.

For them.

Those echoes, still young, we find our purpose in them

That they may take part in a better song

Harmony of echo and echo, to create something better

To afford others a chance, to hear through the clanging cymbals,

The wretched howls, to hear the Word.