Woods Mystery Ranger Philosophy
Once more the RRR shares a short essay he's found on why he seeks the river and the desert.
“When he paused to listen for Charley's voice, the woods around him, so silent and still, suddenly seemed to be full of a brooding mystery; a feeling came over him that the woods withheld from him, just beyond the compass of his eyes and ears, a secret that he couldn't penetrate. It was like standing before a closed door and not knowing how to open it. This was a feeling that he was going to have again when he was alone: a waiting and reaching-out to know and be merged with the mystery, an exaltation and a yearning. Many woodsmen have had it and are only completely happy when they are lost from the outside world and on the edge of it. It drove the mountain men of the early American West into the silence and loneliness of the Rockies and still sends its acolytes far into wild places where they can be alone.”
The Pond by Robert Murphy
“When he paused to listen for Charley's voice, the woods around him, so silent and still, suddenly seemed to be full of a brooding mystery; a feeling came over him that the woods withheld from him, just beyond the compass of his eyes and ears, a secret that he couldn't penetrate. It was like standing before a closed door and not knowing how to open it. This was a feeling that he was going to have again when he was alone: a waiting and reaching-out to know and be merged with the mystery, an exaltation and a yearning. Many woodsmen have had it and are only completely happy when they are lost from the outside world and on the edge of it. It drove the mountain men of the early American West into the silence and loneliness of the Rockies and still sends its acolytes far into wild places where they can be alone.”
The Pond by Robert Murphy
posted by Shamgar | 10:16 AM
2 Comments:
Have a wonderful and safe new year ;)
I'd like to thank you for posting this invaluable section of Murphy's best work. I don't believe we've ever met face to face, but I was your daughter's student who passed The Pond on to her and I was pleased she passed it on again. I welcomed losing "the outside world" this past weekend with a spring snow goose hunt in North Dakota, and reading these words again puts clearly into print a quiet longing for that kind of solitude. The birds were flying, a stiff north wind was blowing and cold rain was falling. I think Mr. Ben would have approved.
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