Map of all the places visited during this project:
I went to a lot more places than I wrote about, that's just the sad thing about writing on schedule, it never happens completely. I find myself living fragments, sometimes forgetting, remembering, or forgetting to remember, the pieces that are never gathered, the pages that are never turned. All the places I go, are real places, but also imaginary, they are places of the heart, places that I carried my heart into, and will be carried away into my heart. It's the statement of a vagabond, one who goes everywhere, but goes nowhere, free-spirited yet always never escaping its own spirit. Everywhere I go, it's the same place.
More than anything, I learned how deeply my heart is connected to the earth, my view of the natural world deeply tied to an ethnic identity, much like the Nazis who believed in the agrarian mystique, the German Blood, German Soil. I, too, cannot sever from the bond of Hakah. I'd like now, I think to read Jiang Rong's Wolf Totem. The years that have been instilled into me, the burden of history I carry. The Famine, the Cultural Revolution, the Capitalistic Experiment, the Tienanmen Massacre. The Homeland That Was Destroyed.
I want to read some Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard, Barry Lopez, Ehrlich Gretel, and some more Gary Snyder and Thoreau--what they say about this place we live in. If there is a place for them, there must be a place for me. For a short season, here was my place. The Peace River Watershed, Lake a small part of it, is a very beautiful place. Tropical, seductive, graceful. I'm going to miss it. And there's nothing I could do further about the fact, besides here, this blog, a living memory.
I went to a lot more places than I wrote about, that's just the sad thing about writing on schedule, it never happens completely. I find myself living fragments, sometimes forgetting, remembering, or forgetting to remember, the pieces that are never gathered, the pages that are never turned. All the places I go, are real places, but also imaginary, they are places of the heart, places that I carried my heart into, and will be carried away into my heart. It's the statement of a vagabond, one who goes everywhere, but goes nowhere, free-spirited yet always never escaping its own spirit. Everywhere I go, it's the same place.
More than anything, I learned how deeply my heart is connected to the earth, my view of the natural world deeply tied to an ethnic identity, much like the Nazis who believed in the agrarian mystique, the German Blood, German Soil. I, too, cannot sever from the bond of Hakah. I'd like now, I think to read Jiang Rong's Wolf Totem. The years that have been instilled into me, the burden of history I carry. The Famine, the Cultural Revolution, the Capitalistic Experiment, the Tienanmen Massacre. The Homeland That Was Destroyed.
I want to read some Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard, Barry Lopez, Ehrlich Gretel, and some more Gary Snyder and Thoreau--what they say about this place we live in. If there is a place for them, there must be a place for me. For a short season, here was my place. The Peace River Watershed, Lake a small part of it, is a very beautiful place. Tropical, seductive, graceful. I'm going to miss it. And there's nothing I could do further about the fact, besides here, this blog, a living memory.
