THOREAU JOURNALS
Backwoods Blog;
in the woods and on the road…
I catch myself philosophizing most abstractly when first returning to consciousness in the night or morning. I make the truest observations and distinctions then, when the will is yet wholly asleep and the mind works like a machine without friction. I am conscious of having, in my sleep, transcended the limits of the individual, and made observations and carried on conversations which in my waking hours I can neither recall or appreciate. As if in sleep our individual fell into the infinite mind, and at the moment of awakening we found ourselves on the confines of the latter. On awakening we resume our enterprise, take up our bodies and become limited mind again. We meet and converse with those bodies which we have previously animated. There is a moment in the dawn, when the darkness of the night is dissipated and before the exhalations of the day commence to rise, when we see things more truly than at any other time. The light is more trustworthy, since our senses are purer and the atmosphere is less gross. By afternoon all objects are seen in mirage.
March 17, 1852
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A cold, raw day with alternating hail-like snow and rain…The spring has its windy March to usher it in, with many soaking rains reaching into April…These migrating sparrows all bear messages that concern my life. I do not pluck their fruits in their season. I love the birds and beasts because they are mythologically in earnest. I see that the sparrow cheeps and flits and sings adequately to the great design of the universe; that man does not communicate with it, understand its language, because he is not one with nature…What philosopher can estimate the different values of a waking thought and a dream? I hear late to-night the unspeakable rain, mingled with rattling snow against the windows, preparing the ground for spring.
March 31, 1852
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One of the prized literary works in the Unitarian Society of Houlton library is the complete two volume set “Journals of Henry David Thoreau” donated by Donald Raymond, a local poet, writer and long-time member of the Thoreau Society in Concord, Massachusetts. Ours is the new Dover edition, first published in 1962, an unabridged republication of the work first published by the Houghton Mifflin Company in 1906, originally edited by Torrey and Allen. It contains fourteen volumes and covers a twenty four year period from 1837-1861; over two million words (in very small font) if one were to read it in its entirety. This is where I glean passages from Thoreau to use in my writings such as this. Although Thoreau had limited success and recognition during his own lifetime, with the publication of his journals and the eventual success of Walden, Thoreau is now regarded as one of the most influential 19th century writers. Thoreau has never been bigger than now. Of course, Henry would frown upon his image merchandised on a T-shirt or coffee mug, but nonetheless, his ideas are imprinted upon interests ranging from our National Parks and environmental/conservation studies to non-violent civil disobedience and philosophy of spiritual practice.
The ice went out on the south branch of the Meduxnekeag River two weeks ago in Houlton, but here on the north branch the ice is taking a slow-pace spring exit without much drama. Usually there is about a one week difference between ice-out dates on the two branches, so I’m a little curious as to how long it might take. Spring rains along with snow melt typically fill the river to its banks, but this year water levels are significantly lower than the norm so perhaps that is the difference maker. I keep waiting… Thoreau noticed how the last days of March alternate between rain and snow (with a bit of wind tossed in). The difference between ice and water is almost like the difference between dreaming and being awake; it’s a fine transition line that separates the two. According to modern psychology, in deep sleep we enter an imageless state where our mind takes a break from its regular thinking function and accesses something deeper and undefined, “as if in sleep our individual fell into the infinite mind.” As I wait for the ice to go out on the north branch, so the rains and snow of late March prepare the ground for spring.
In the woods,
Dave
March 29, 2023
