I absolutely love this post, both the poem and prose! I’ve been thinking often about this lately, the sadness of the obsession with vehicles and moving along with speed. In a somewhat joking yet also true way, I think the highway through the city might be one of the most destructive parts of a city, since it does not allow you to feel any sense of community within where you are at. The city of Louisville, (where I am currently at) is transition piece as I move from point a to b. Yet walking more places often makes us remember the beauty of space, slowness, and, even, paradoxically, adventure! It is the both at the same time the most homeward bound yet dangerous thing you can do. You never know, as Bilbo says, where the wind might take you. My apologies for the rant, but this is all to say, excellent post!
Man, thanks for this comment. I love that you said adventure. I think that word faces me in the right direction for what walking and slowing myself down means. I've been reading The Horse and His Boy to one of my sons and Lewis describes this scene:
As the characters are leaving a town and crossing a desert-
"And nothing at all different for mile after mile. Tashbaan would never
look any further away. The mountains would never look any nearer.
You felt this had been going on for always-"
I live in NY-so I don't get this feeling often- but whenever I'm driving a distance and my surroundings are so vast, that despite my speed they don't get any closer, it's a welcomed reminder to take in how slow we actually move compared to the grandeur of bigger things. Even our fast, isn't really fast. It's just faster than whatever's slower.
This really stuck out at me: "I don’t revolt against cars and trains. But they have impacted negatively what it means to see." How true that is! Some years back, I went down a pretty deep rabbit hole with photography. I brought my camera with me everywhere, and it taught me invaluable lessons about slowing down and training my eyes to see like I did as a child, when everything felt new. Everything becoming humdrum and ordinary is a product of our own internal rules and formulas for interpretation—the filtering helps us get through our day more efficiently. But nothing's ever as mundane as we perceive it to be.
Your poem reminded me of Japanese gardens—how the pathways are constructed to deliberately break up the pace and cadence of our walking, so that we're encouraged to slow down and not settle into a routine during our visit. A good practice to keep in mind.
Thanks for sharing the poem and the discussion; lots to think about there.
Ah man, thanks! Your encouragement made me feel good about posting the reflection with the poem. I'm currently recovering from a back injury and everything is a painfully slow walk. You mentioned the retraining of your eyes-I find my eyes and mind don't match my body's pace. It's been so difficult for my walking & seeing to be in sync. Even when I move slow, my mind doesn't.
I absolutely love this post, both the poem and prose! I’ve been thinking often about this lately, the sadness of the obsession with vehicles and moving along with speed. In a somewhat joking yet also true way, I think the highway through the city might be one of the most destructive parts of a city, since it does not allow you to feel any sense of community within where you are at. The city of Louisville, (where I am currently at) is transition piece as I move from point a to b. Yet walking more places often makes us remember the beauty of space, slowness, and, even, paradoxically, adventure! It is the both at the same time the most homeward bound yet dangerous thing you can do. You never know, as Bilbo says, where the wind might take you. My apologies for the rant, but this is all to say, excellent post!
Man, thanks for this comment. I love that you said adventure. I think that word faces me in the right direction for what walking and slowing myself down means. I've been reading The Horse and His Boy to one of my sons and Lewis describes this scene:
As the characters are leaving a town and crossing a desert-
"And nothing at all different for mile after mile. Tashbaan would never
look any further away. The mountains would never look any nearer.
You felt this had been going on for always-"
I live in NY-so I don't get this feeling often- but whenever I'm driving a distance and my surroundings are so vast, that despite my speed they don't get any closer, it's a welcomed reminder to take in how slow we actually move compared to the grandeur of bigger things. Even our fast, isn't really fast. It's just faster than whatever's slower.
This really stuck out at me: "I don’t revolt against cars and trains. But they have impacted negatively what it means to see." How true that is! Some years back, I went down a pretty deep rabbit hole with photography. I brought my camera with me everywhere, and it taught me invaluable lessons about slowing down and training my eyes to see like I did as a child, when everything felt new. Everything becoming humdrum and ordinary is a product of our own internal rules and formulas for interpretation—the filtering helps us get through our day more efficiently. But nothing's ever as mundane as we perceive it to be.
Your poem reminded me of Japanese gardens—how the pathways are constructed to deliberately break up the pace and cadence of our walking, so that we're encouraged to slow down and not settle into a routine during our visit. A good practice to keep in mind.
Thanks for sharing the poem and the discussion; lots to think about there.
Ah man, thanks! Your encouragement made me feel good about posting the reflection with the poem. I'm currently recovering from a back injury and everything is a painfully slow walk. You mentioned the retraining of your eyes-I find my eyes and mind don't match my body's pace. It's been so difficult for my walking & seeing to be in sync. Even when I move slow, my mind doesn't.
Ah man, I hope you recover soon! Back pain is no joke. Be patient with yourself.