Walking Tour Reflection

I would love to be the exception to the rule and be the Wordsworthian child, as the speaker explains it in “Ode: Intimations of Immortality”—that beacon of innocence and immortality, that mighty philosopher of lost truth, that being who has access to the glory of his origins. Unfortunately, I know that I’m a part of human life that is “a sleep and a forgetting”; the adult life of “earthly freight” encompasses my existence. And nature isn’t dreamlike “appareled in celestial light” to my senses anymore. These facts alone cause me to ask: how can I gain access to this realm that the child experiences? I may have found my answer while walking around Audubon Park. In my judgment, the child isn’t the only being on earth that has access to this pure, more glorious realm. During my walk, I couldn’t help to think that wildlife itself has access to it. I observed the egret’s unassuming persona and soft, mischievous walk: she lunged her head forward slightly and retracted it with equal slightness. The ducks and geese were at peace in their habitat as well. It didn’t seem like they forgot the “glories” from whence they came. Perhaps if I were in these animals’s presence more, I could be closer to the Wordsworthian child’s state of being.

Blake Inspired

Varying shades of gray, clouds hovered ominously over the park, the heavens unable to be seen. Standing by the fountain, I contemplated what direction along the concrete path I would travel around the park. However, I suddenly remembered Blake’s insistence on creating originality; attempting to recreate something proves a waste of both time and energy. Abandoning the predictability and safety of the cement, I made a new path for myself through the park, a path not traveled by anyone else.

As I walked into the sea of green, I immediately noticed a number of dirt paths emerging along the ground, grass worn down by the abundance of joggers. Throughout life, people constantly travel the same paths and never question the sense of security these laid out journeys provide, numb to the surrounding beauty. Starting off on one of these emerging paths along the main track, I veered off upon encountering a trashcan and began meandering around the park, the home of countless beings. Silence growing, my thoughts grew louder and incredibly clearer as I penetrated into the heart of the park. No radios booming. No horns blowing. No people barking. Reality began to take on a new character.

Eyes set up above, the clear skies battled the encroaching clouds undoubtedly filled with rain. Good versus evil. Light versus dark. Soul versus body. Yet, cut and dry divisions do not exist, and the colors created between these polarities in the sky combined to create a soothing pallet of pale blues and grays. The sun didn’t bear down upon my pale skin nor did the rain arrive while aimlessly walking. Other than the stubborn humidity, the conditions were fair.

Undoubtedly distant, the chirping of a bird nonetheless sounded familiar, a sound that felt like home. Branches intertwined, the mighty oaks throughout the park formed a shelter from the impending weather, their leaves appearing content no matter where they were located on these monuments dedicated to Nature’s unquestionable creative ability. Some bathe in the sun while others keep cool in the shade. Nature never fails. Man does.

People often fail to question the paths laid out before them, surrounding wonders remaining undiscovered, desires unfulfilled. As I observed joggers make their way around the main track, anxiety roused by the idea of repetition took root and began growing inside me. How can the track be demolished? The cycle broke?

Consumed by the thick air, I began to sweat as I gazed upon a slew of squirrels meticulously scanning the earth for food, their suspicious eyes repeatedly locked on my figure. Hopping. Nibbling. Jittering. An ugly, lone duck with what appears to be deep red rubber around its beak waddles away quickly as I approach; another does the same. However distrustful Nature may be of man, he remains the best mirror for its perfect reflection regardless of the fragmented image that results.

Mud, grass, and rocks all comprise my path as I now stroll along the water’s edge, a balancing act at times, a potentially sprained ankle lurking. Distancing myself from the life giving waters, I pull back the trailing branches of two willows as if I’m opening the curtains to greet a new day. Feathers on the ground, moss covered branches and humming bugs await me through the foliage. I hear rustling and see now that the barefooted man jogs in the grass. Now this looks natural.

As I approach the street, increasing distractions—screaming children, speeding automobiles, and squeaky streetcars—drown out my thoughts though never completely fading. Jotting down a few notes, I reflect on my trip around Audubon, the path that I had created to escape into a natural world so close, yet incredibly foreign. Imagination now confronts reality, and reality imagination. As William Blake stated, however, “Without Contraries is no progression.” Though I encircled the park, I ultimately went forward.

Nature, God and Romanticism

I should begin by admitting that I did not do the walk in Audobon Park at the assigned time. I came to the park meaning to, but went and returned my backpack to my room and ran into some friends on the way back to the park and ended up talking to them for two hours instead. I figured I could go back sometime in the next few days and it wouldn't much matter. Besides, it was a drizzly, overcast day and I think Audobon is most beautiful in the sunshine, particularly at either dawn or dusk. So I went back this morning and walked and prayed in the park, finding the beauty and wisdom of God apparent in the chirping birds and overhanging trees and the water meandering so slowly and elegantly. 

    Right there I've admitted an important difference between myself and a lot of romantic poets. I am a very religious person and I credit the beauty of nature to the creativity of God. I don't think it exists for itself. I do agree, at least in part, with the romantic idea of man as a part of nature. While I reserve a special place for man in creation, I am also think its obvious that all that makes us dignified as human beings: our intellect, will, emotions and passions, are stem from natural, physical process of neurology. As such, I'm skeptical of all ideas which posit a mind body dualism in man or see the body as a prison for the mind or soul. Blake probably wouldn't have liked me very much. But human beings are physical creatures and as they naturally find comfort and beauty in nature. Christians would use the word "solidarity" to describe it. So its easy to understand how the romantics, even those who were atheists or agnostics, found meaning in nature. It relates perfectly to human emotion and struggle. Everything in nature is birth and death, growth and decay, sorrow and joy. Every thing is a cycle and every part of the cycle is beautiful, even the most painful. As I walked along the path in Audobon about an hour ago, I took in the beauty of the morning all the while realizing it must be coupled with the pain of night. It's like the story we were told in class. The leaves on trees in fall are red because they're beautiful. Through all sorrow and hardship there is beauty. Nature is evidence of this and the romantic poet knows it. 

I especially loved G's post because I was also on the retreat experience that she talked about and I also found night out there in the woods kinda scary and attractive at the same time. I went into that retreat with a difficult problem I was facing in life which I really had to wrestle with this weekend. I found most of the great conversations I had with God and most of the intense introspection into my heart happened alone at night when the darkness surrounded me. Maybe its just that I'm an English major and am constantly looking for metaphors and outside expressions which mirror the turmoil of my mind. But I finally made some peace with things late Saturday night and the light of Sunday morning brought a newness and a joy with it. All the while I was made more aware of the nights to follow in life, of all the struggle and sorrow that I will have to face as I walk through this world, which I would sometimes rather avoid. I know, though, that I can't avoid it and ought to embrace it. Like the cycles of nature, the struggles of human existence are substantial, but they are always beautiful and worthy of romantic poetry. 

A Heart that Watches and Receives

Witnessing the Tree of Life, for the first time, was interesting. As I walked towards it, I could tell that the tree was fairly large, but for some reason my mind took a while to register the enormity of it. It was not until I stood under its branches that I realized its size. A falling branch would be enough to kill me, or seriously injure me at the very least. I wanted to climb it, and I wanted to stay safe at the same time. Its branches were so warped and abnormal that it seemed otherworldly to me or maybe like something that did not belong in New Orleans.

It is difficult to put emotions into words.

Descriptions might come easy, especially since we are so used to dissecting what we see so that we can understand it. Even though we may not describe it in words. But when it comes to how we feel over certain things, specifics are usually too vague, generic or complicated. Yet, at the same time, we as humans would rather be able to express ourselves as best as we can, so as not to seem like a fool when speaking to another.

 

Perhaps, when seeking to describe what we see and feel we lose sight of the simple beauty in all things. Something that is likely to come up as we grow older, and our minds “more” intelligent.

“Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.”

-Wordsworth; Tables Turned (28-32)

While Wordsworth himself gives good advice, it is strangely hypocritical in the fact that he would mention “Enough of Science and Art” when poetry is a form of art, and many of the lines in this poem speak of the beauty of nature. Either Wordsworth did not realize this (which is unlikely) or he expected himself to be an exception to this rule. 

Nature

Despite that I am often always preoccupied with several tasks; it is a rarity that I am able to set aside time to behold and appreciate something as beautiful as nature. So when given the chance to experience Audubon Park, I took it. As I slowly walked along with several others, I tried my best to observe the entire park. Many of my “unofficial” tour guides, which included Professor Schwartz as well as my peers, pointed out the beauty that was not always apparent to me in the park. One of the “hidden” beauties included the newly planted trees that were planted in efforts to restore tress in the park. Another hidden beauty was the stone-encrusted tree. While I did not consider these trees as great aspects of the park, I have realized their importance.


Over the week-end, just like Amy, I went to the bug-infested, swamp-smelling wilderness. While there were several hiking trails, a lake, and a dry, yet humid climate that only Louisiana seems to possess, there was also the presence of man-kind. Not only was man physically there, but present was also log cabins, a swimming pool, and the ranger’s house which contained two television satellites both of unequal sizes. Yet, while one can argue that man’s presence, in some sense, alters truly experiencing nature, it should also be noted that a human presence, or multiple human presences, can not always be negative.

“Let Nature be your Teacher,” seemed to be Wordsworth’s message to me this past week-end. To my surprise, not only did I learn from nature, but it gained the title of “Official Tour Guide.” While I was in the wilderness, I often reflected on things such as family issues, the true meaning of friendship, and love. While I often reflected on these topics during the day, it was during the darkness, that I found myself truly overcome by nature. I wondered why, when walking back to my cabin in the dark without a flashlight, I felt so afraid. Of course the immediate response was that I was alone surrounded by darkness with no light. However, as I thought more, I realized that it was because I was surrounded by woods. Even if I had a flashlight handy, my vision would be limited to only where the light shined. If I was driving in a car, the headlights would only permit me to see so much. The difference between night and day was obvious, during the day, everything was visible, and yet, nature was still surrounding me. At night though, nature seemed to overpower me. I then wondered if Wordsworth and the other Romantics felt this way. Through their poems, it really seemed that the overpowering was a great one, almost a blessing from nature to man, or even a type of revenge.


Over the week-end, I learned how to leave my cell phone and electricity behind to acknowledge wilderness. Without these distractions, I was taught to fear wilderness. Through this fear, I learned to appreciate nature. My week-end away allowed me to view the stone tree in Audubon Park, not as a disturbance of nature, but as a beautiful tree aided by man. I was also able to see the newly planted trees as man’s way to aid the growth of the park. For not only did a man, John Charles Omsted, help to construct the park, but it was also nature, Hurricanes Katrina and Gustav, that helped destroy it.

an afternoon in 'auto-bon'

"A heart that watches and receives"

The first few steps I took into the grass I didn't really know what to look for. I started by jotting down things I noticed around me. A squirrel's leap from the ground onto a low hanging branch. Certain thoughts I had about flowers. The setting sun and the clouds covering it. As I began to realize these observations and process them, I found myself admitting that these situations weren't plain and arbitrary. I saw children skipping down the track and saw the future. I heard laughter coming from underneath a certain gazebo. The kind of laughter that, without even looking at its source, convinces you of its worth and almost has you laughing as well.

A little further down the path I noticed a particular tree with dead leaves lying all around its base. Dead, brown, and probably even rotting leaves.

In Virginia, the leaves are beautiful when they die.

In a park where almost every tree, bench, sculpture, and exceptionally large ditch has a name and plaque in commemoration of something or someone, I found myself thinking of the reds, browns, and yellows that leaves take on when they fall from their tree and the colorful blanket they create on the Earth. Seeing that clump of brown leaves reminded me of this and I wanted to see Nature be beautiful as it died. Surely I wouldn't ask a mauled antelope to do the same.

Perception. The all-important factor in ... well, everything.

If keeping the name of a loved one on a bench helps sooth a soul in pain, then so be it. To each their own.

All around the park there were tools working for the preservation of life. The track to facilitate running, the plaques to keep the names of the dead on our tongues, the preservation efforts in the park (No Fishing signs, etc... this may also have something to do with the fact that more than likely the fish are not edible), golfing to ease the mind, and even the aforementioned brown clump of leaves will eventually be a well of life for worms or another tree or ants perhaps. Civilization does not let go of much. We like to remember things and know where we came from. That's all well and good, but these are factors of our Earthly realm. We don't know where we were before our first breath in this world. We don't know where we're going after our last. One thing is for sure. While breathing, we remember those who take breath, took breath, and will take breath. My point is, could we be spared the sorrow of a lost loved one if we simply accept our position of mortality on this Earth? Why do we seek to be made immortal by the actions of this life and in doing so make mortality impossible? Once born, we make impressions on our surroundings that are permanent even after the spirit leaves the Earth. Regardless of time or accomplishment. In fact, I'd wager the soul cries its hardest in losing a young loved one.

I've heard the notion that a person isn't dead until the last person that remembers them passes away.

Again, perception.

The living care for the dead longer than the dead care for themselves.

Of course, it's possible that the dead miss the living just as much as the living miss the dead.

This blog is getting harder and harder to write as the night goes on. The "noon of thought" and scary noises.

My entire experience in Audubon is actually too much to write about. I conversed with a man about his grandson who plays in band over at Tulane. I thought it was interesting that this man who I'd never seen in my life was so eager to share the name of his family. Here, he perpetuates the life of his grandson by spreading his thoughts. He also asked me if I was there to study or look at all the pretty girls running.

The last thing I'll mention was my game with a squirrel. Now, I'm not crazy, but I'd like to think that we played hide and seek. I followed him around the tree a few times until finally he got savvy and jumped to the top and looked back to make sure I wasn't behind him. Now this was surely just a defense mechanism on his or her part. But again, perception, and so hide and seek it was.

Leaves falling from trees = birth and death of humans

the cyclic nature of Nature is apparent in our surroundings. this is plain to see, but for some reason humans want to complicate it. we want to live forever and keep it all. i'm not saying that i'm ready to die tomorrow but i know what's going to happen when i hear that bell toll ...

well, kind of.

I'm no Blake, but I like to scribble.

"We walked the path in dreary light"

We walked the path in dreary light,

the soft earth hugging our feet.

A hand to hold, a look so bold,

And all alone out of sight.

As time went on from that day,

We grew and loved and taught.

Time gave what it had, but to our dismay,

All we had was ill wrought.

Back again, our bench still there,

But you a distant dream.

Memories float through summer air

Remembering what we once seemed.

As I sit our old trees grow still

And yet again that sun falls dim.

As hard as your companionship I will,

My only companions are earth’s woody limbs.

We walked the path in dreary light,

And dreary light stayed there,

The waters sing, the wind still clings,

But all alone and out of sight.

----As I walked around Audubon park, memories came back to me of all the times I had been in that park. I remembered running, picnics, late afternoon parties with friends and one question came to mind; When was the last time had I been in Audubon? It may be a bit personal, but the last time I was there was with a old romantic interest a very long time ago. So as I scribbled down some thoughts, all I could think about was how the world had changed so much around me and yet Audubon was still the same. I hadn't visited the park for a very long time and so much had changed. My expectations, my direction, my life. Yet Audubon remained exactly how I left it. It made me feel appreciative, awed and sad.

It was sad to know that we are ever changing, ever in this state of growth. It was sad to know that we will never be the same as we were a year ago, a week ago or even a day ago. Nothing will be the same. Amongst all the past dwelling and the reminiscing the park was beautiful (despite the deep humidity after the rain). It made me happy to know that I could come back there and trust it would be waiting.

As Wordsworth said, "Those walks, well worthy to be prized and loved,/ Regretted! that word too was one my tongue,/But they were richly laden with all good,/ And cannot be remembered but with thanks/ And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart;/Those walks, in all their freshness, now cam back,/ Like a returning Spring...If ever happiness hath lodged with man,/That day consummate happiness was mine,/ Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative" ("Book Fourth" line 131-141).