Nature was here something savage and awful, though beautiful. I looked with awe at the ground I trod on, to see what the powers had made there, the form and fashion and material of their work. This was that earth of which we have heard, made out of chaos and old night. Here was no mans garden, but the unhandselled globe. It was not lawn, nor pasture, nor mead, nor mead, nor woodland, nor lea, nor arable, nor wasteland. It was the fresh natural surface of the planet Earth, as it was made forever and ever, to be the dwelling of man, we say, so Nature made it, and man may use it if he can. Man was not to be associated with it. It was matter, vast, terrific not his mother earth that we have heard of, not for him to tred on, or to be buried in, no it were being to familiar even to let his bones lie there, the home, this, of necessity and fate. There was clearly felt the presence of a force not bound to be kind to man. It was a place of heathenism and superstitious rights, to be inhabited by man by men nearer of kin to rocks and to wild animals than we. . . . What is it to be admitted to a museum, to see a myriad of particular things, compared with the being shown some stars surface, some hard matter in its home! I stand in awe of my body, this matter to which I am bound has become so strange to me. I fear not spirits, ghosts, of which I am one, that my body might, but i fear bodies, I tremble to meet them. What is this Titan that has possession of me? Talk of mysteries! Think of our life in nature, daily, to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?
Posted on: Wed, 15 Oct 2014 11:15:55 +0000
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