Philosophers, and professors of philosophy
It has long been within my heart to pilgrimage to this site, as it is a pilgrimage to a spiritual home of sorts. As my ideology, politics and worldview would, were I a man about labels, fit neatly within the confines of the Transcendentalist camp. For I too stand apart from the masses in that what is commonly called good and wholesome I call evil, having for myself seen my fellows push their four walls filled with prized possessions down the road of life until such time as their possessions require four bigger walls. Which they then push, dragging behind them the debt incurred until one day they fall into an open grave. Leaving those things as a curse for the next generation to push until they in their turn fall into the selfsame pit. This is an observation made by the man himself that stands as truth 176 years later. Only I add that that I find listening the explanations and justifications of those who push and push to be both tiresome and tedious. And not worth the expenditure of my time and reason. For I, like the apostle find, that having both food and raiment, am content and see no need for more than this. Okay. Fine. And a camera to photograph with a computer to blog with and a rocket to launch in the air. But still…. minimal.
But as I see in my explorations of current neo-transcendentalism the work of philosophy professors, who see some perverted need to apply incomprehensible jargon to a path of minimalism and simplicity. Adding mystery to something not meant to be mysterious. As though the difference between profane and profound is couched within the size of the words used to describe such.
We (Margaret Webster) and myself traveled to Concord Massachusetts in mid-March 2021. This was about the same time of year that Thoreau began construction of the cabin, which he built for the princely sum of $28.12 and one-half cents in 1845. The pond, as described in Walden, had the last bits of ice floating on its edges. We walked the trails and took in the same, yet different vistas that were present. Views made different by 176 years of human meddling with nature by sculpting beaches along the edges of the 12,000 year old glacial kettle. Ending at the former cabin site before going into Concord village and visiting the gravesite, as well as those of Louisa May Alcott and Ralph Waldo Emerson. I find it fitting that Henry’s bean field, shack, and woodshed have more impressive monuments than does the man himself. All these scenes are recorded in the gallery below for your enjoyment.