Monday, July 23, 2012

from The Maine Woods

Henry David Thoreau

What is it to be admitted to a museum, to see a myriad of particular things, compared with being shown some star's 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?


Carlene said...

I see a connection between the Romantic poets, maybe Shelley, and Thoreau Thanks for making that work. And Again the ghosts are having coffee...nice to be invited to the conversation.

Dawn Potter said...

The ghosts are having iced coffee.