"Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars. I cannot count one. I know not the first letter of the alphabet. I have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things."
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
My semester is over and as I must have a book in my hands to feel grounded, I have revisited Thoreau and his beautiful Walden. [insert contented sigh here]
My previous ponderings, and grumblings, over the quest for abundant simplicity have been answered and quieted by these words and as my imagination flies away to a place long past I wish I too could sneak off to the solitary woods for a year or two.
Instead, I drift off each morning to the stillness of the mind and the seek out the peace of the birds waking outside my window.
We do what we can with what we have.
Pathfinding again,
WS
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
My semester is over and as I must have a book in my hands to feel grounded, I have revisited Thoreau and his beautiful Walden. [insert contented sigh here]
My previous ponderings, and grumblings, over the quest for abundant simplicity have been answered and quieted by these words and as my imagination flies away to a place long past I wish I too could sneak off to the solitary woods for a year or two.
Instead, I drift off each morning to the stillness of the mind and the seek out the peace of the birds waking outside my window.
We do what we can with what we have.
Pathfinding again,
WS
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