June 16, 2011Lakewood, CO
09:01:11, hours MDT
...continued hiker’s journal…
The more I read, listen to and understand the naturalists that have preceded us here in America, the more I want to shit- can this self- centered social environment called the Front Range of Colorado. I want to flee to the wilderness and find remnants still without the motorized machinations of the mortgaged- to- the- hilt crowd.
More than this, I want to hear the evening birdsong without the ever- present din of motorized traffic in the near or far distance. I want to hear and experience again the rustle of the breeze on the grasses and the pitter- pattering (and galloping) of the mammals on the forest floor without uninvited intrusion of some other not- on the same wave length variety [humans] consuming the experience and bagging yet another day away from the job and home address.
Seems to me from this vantage point in the career of being, becoming and evolving in lifestyle and living in general that being prepared to sleep out is the pre- requisite to observing the asana of the world with the lens of acculturation in this society, the consumer society, characterized by self- indulgence and decadence along with over spending on needless devices and sundries, that has a life of its own. Solace and solitude are not silent qualities explained by therapists in offices in the suburbs… it is the birdsong and rustling unfettered by the noisiness and busyness of the device laden Americans in the back- country…. May take a few days of foot travel to reach but there you are… and when you arrive― poof there you are again. The unfettered naturalness to the world of insects and living organisms observed through our senses gives rise to this― don’t you think? The esthetic beauty of land forms and coursing waterways are included along with local climates and weather. How much value is placed on the pit left after the gold mine is played out? Where do the minerals go? Into your pocket? Into whose pocket?
Remember the three days here after the plane attacks in NY? Remember how the skies were quiet- in between the military jets over flying us? I do. I want to again; while health is with me- to rely on wit, vim, vigor and abilities to hear and experience another time- to live outside all over again and regain the inner solace that the forests and canyons have a knack for delivering. The ever- present distraction of the texting- in public enthusiasts; the overfed and frantic inhabitants of this region as well as frenetic paced shopping and buying spree of what they call the good- life is frankly a bore to me.
This book is making an impression and imprint on my being ness―> “The Quiet World: Saving Alaska’s Wilderness Kingdom, 1879-1960,” by Douglas Brinkley. I recommend it either in print version from library or in CD format to listen to. Am becoming aware of the birthplace of American environmental conservatism and the naturalists involved in shaping the intact wild places left us in our military- industrial complex manner of living. The rampant consumerism and marketeering to the well-heeled crowds along with the distractions of bargain- hunting the current gluten- free solution and continued texting- in- public somehow does not add up when measured against the well- written accounts of the preliminary actions by those with intuitive and scientific knowledge of the forests and wild lands that were inhabited for generations before the White race invaded and began is head long systematic destruction in search for gold, oil, fishes and anything else convertible into coinage. Some things are sacred and some places need be left intact without the lobbyists mandating and directing that we continue to reap the riches of the land and leave pillaged eco-systems in return.
I have been many days in places where there is only the loud roar of a swift tributary to the Colorado River; many days where no- one has approached on foot from the opposite direction and observed only the winds at night in the canyons below. I long for the wilderness that the Muries experienced in the Koyukuk river region of Alaska.
The Wiseman, Alaska experience of Bob Marshall among the locals and as well- the more recent explorations and found solitude in the doing and raftings of Katie Lee, how these writings pique my inner yearning to break the shackles of the deadening roar with the incessant callings to buy this or consume that. Oh how I want to renounce the stifling pretentiousness of this gentrified, sanitized and moneyed crowd here in Denver- metro. Surrendering this for the renewal of spirit from the forests?
No comments:
Post a Comment