Sunday, August 31, 2014, 11:07 AM
I'm reading a silly brain-candy science fiction book, but this bit of dialog struck a chord with me:
...
"I like walking," said Jes contentedly.
"What do you like about it?" Hennea asked him.
"(...) I am outside and the sun is shining and making my face warm."
"I like walking, too," Hennea admitted.
"Why?"
"For the same reasons you have. Walking means that right this moment, nothing bad is happening. There are interesting things to look at. My feet like to feel the road under them."
"Yes," he said, "It's just like that."
Adapted from Raven's Shadow by Patricia Briggs. I think, edited as I typed it, it kinda sounds like Winnie The Pooh and Piglet.
There's a lot of history and thought in walking. One of my favorite authors, Bruce Chatwin, wrote about the seemingly magical power of walking. His theory was that humans were originally nomadic, and that we have a deep-seated reaction to travel, particularly walking, that makes us content on an almost primal level, like fire and the company of other humans. In his book In Patagonia, someone asks him what religion he subscribes to and his reply is "I haven't got any special religion this morning. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don't need any other god."
He further developed his theory:
“Gradually the idea for a book began to take shape. It was to be a wildly ambitious and intolerant work, a kind of 'Anatomy of Restlessness' that would enlarge on Pascal's dictum about the man sitting quietly in a room. The argument, roughly, was as follows: that in becoming human, man had acquired, together with his straight legs and striding walk, a migratory 'drive' or instinct to walk long distances through the seasons; that this 'drive' was inseparable from his central nervous system; and, that, when warped in conditions of settlement, it found outlets in violence, greed, status-seeking or a mania for the new. This would explain why mobile societies such as the gypsies were egalitarian, thing-free and resistant to change; also why, to re-establish the harmony of the First State, all the great teachers - Buddha, Lao-tse, St Francis - had set the perpetual pilgrimage at the heart of their message and told their disciples, literally, to follow The Way.”
― Bruce Chatwin, Anatomy of Restlessness: Selected Writings, 1969-1989
Unfortunately, he died a relatively young man, an early victim of AIDS.
I have several books on travel as pilgrimage, on "the lost art of walking," and similar ideas. Travel as a central theme of one's life, of one's spiritual development. I'm bringing some of them to Maine for the next couple weeks. I'll be doing a lot of walking--and some cycling and swimming--and I intend to make it a mindfulness practice, a moving meditation. I'll let some of my favorite writers and thinkers guide my attitude toward these short peregrinations and see where they take me.
"What do you like about it?" Hennea asked him.
"(...) I am outside and the sun is shining and making my face warm."
"I like walking, too," Hennea admitted.
"Why?"
"For the same reasons you have. Walking means that right this moment, nothing bad is happening. There are interesting things to look at. My feet like to feel the road under them."
"Yes," he said, "It's just like that."
Adapted from Raven's Shadow by Patricia Briggs. I think, edited as I typed it, it kinda sounds like Winnie The Pooh and Piglet.
There's a lot of history and thought in walking. One of my favorite authors, Bruce Chatwin, wrote about the seemingly magical power of walking. His theory was that humans were originally nomadic, and that we have a deep-seated reaction to travel, particularly walking, that makes us content on an almost primal level, like fire and the company of other humans. In his book In Patagonia, someone asks him what religion he subscribes to and his reply is "I haven't got any special religion this morning. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don't need any other god."
He further developed his theory:
“Gradually the idea for a book began to take shape. It was to be a wildly ambitious and intolerant work, a kind of 'Anatomy of Restlessness' that would enlarge on Pascal's dictum about the man sitting quietly in a room. The argument, roughly, was as follows: that in becoming human, man had acquired, together with his straight legs and striding walk, a migratory 'drive' or instinct to walk long distances through the seasons; that this 'drive' was inseparable from his central nervous system; and, that, when warped in conditions of settlement, it found outlets in violence, greed, status-seeking or a mania for the new. This would explain why mobile societies such as the gypsies were egalitarian, thing-free and resistant to change; also why, to re-establish the harmony of the First State, all the great teachers - Buddha, Lao-tse, St Francis - had set the perpetual pilgrimage at the heart of their message and told their disciples, literally, to follow The Way.”
― Bruce Chatwin, Anatomy of Restlessness: Selected Writings, 1969-1989
Unfortunately, he died a relatively young man, an early victim of AIDS.
I have several books on travel as pilgrimage, on "the lost art of walking," and similar ideas. Travel as a central theme of one's life, of one's spiritual development. I'm bringing some of them to Maine for the next couple weeks. I'll be doing a lot of walking--and some cycling and swimming--and I intend to make it a mindfulness practice, a moving meditation. I'll let some of my favorite writers and thinkers guide my attitude toward these short peregrinations and see where they take me.
