None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.
Henry David ThoreauRead
When I would re-create myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most interminable and to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter as a sacred place, a Sanctum sanctorum. There is the strength, the marrow, of Nature.
Interpretation
Thoreau emphasizes the transformative power of nature, particularly in its darkest and most forbidding forms.
In this quote, Henry David Thoreau reflects on the idea of self-recreation through a deep connection with nature, specifically seeking out the wild and often overlooked parts of the natural world. He views these dense woods and swamps not as gloomy or dismal, but as sacred spaces that hold essential strength and wisdom, suggesting that true understanding and personal growth often come from embracing the raw, untamed aspects of existence.
In practice
During a nature retreat, I shared Thoreau's insight about the transformative power of the darkest woods.
None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.
Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are, buying and selling and spending their lives like servants.
An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.
Have no mean hours, but be grateful for every hour, and accept what it brings. The reality will make any sincere record respectable.
As every season seems best to us in its turn, so the coming in of spring is like the creation of Cosmos out of Chaos and the realization of the Golden Age.
That grand old poem called Winter
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings_x000D_ _x000D_ To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:_x000D_ _x000D_ He withers all in silence, and his hand_x000D_ _x000D_ Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.
A strip of water's spread in the setting sun, Half the river's emerald, half is red. I love the third night of the ninth month, The dew is like a pearl; the moon like a bow.
All the spring may be hidden in the single bud, and the low ground nest of the lark may hold the joy that is to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns.
Our modern industrial economy takes a mountain covered with trees, lakes, running streams and transforms it into a mountain of junk, garbage, slime pits, and debris.
When there was room on the ledge outside of the pots and boxes for a cat, the cat was there- in sunny weather- stretched at full length, asleep and blissful, with her furry belly to the sun and a paw curved over her nose.
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