Danny James

Tag: walk

127: Becoming viper

That you have met the viper’s fang is not to figure every rock or shrub some dreadfulness conceals and avoid forever the trail’s attract, but see how all the wood’s creatures affrighted are, and veil the scourge in aggressive policy.

120: Storyboard

Sunday came as Sundays do, with utile retrospectives of the week that was, breaking dawn over the yawning consciousness. These early ended days and seasonal moods seem no longer parallel with my evolved pursuits and may after all prove the last debris of habitual civilities being to a better advantage left as I go to the grove. It is not now enough that I can draw rational ends from what is done, but consider need how they may be useful if only in ways ahead. Just as Auroral warmth will, in the course of time sun the outermost blades of a dew-dampened glebe, it touches the curiosity sooner or later, of who linger long enough after young ire cools, that perhaps many more insights might be hidden in the forest bed that could rend the former outworn. The idea of setting in to meet a future self, more intelligent and virtuous, that you never could imagine much less decide on, becomes with accidental age an increasing prospect of interest. The flow of streams do not cease, and though the refractory trance of shimmering light gives good reason for satisfied reflection, the brooks on which they bend keep right on pouring into an unknown. You will appreciate then a favourable discomfort when can you dwell on renewal, and receive it well, knowing there is some knowledge to be gained from the mountains still, which, from their peaks impart more than will the valleys ever read, and can the mountains themselves even tell.

The areas I would explore, until today I’d stalled in visiting. Knowing well the enjoyment gathered there before, would be increased with new awareness added since, and compounded further by anticipations of forthcoming study. I went once more to the woods and felt instantly recognised and secure. By a warmly gesture of introduction, the entrance appeared fitted with a near ceremonious fanfare proceeding long back to the mark I ventured from, growing in a silent fervency not immediately obvious. Leaves rained down from above, every so often at first, tumbling in fine spun algorithms too sharp and delicate for the pace of human eye, then, in multitudes were flung unabated and cheerfully to enhance the charm of the trail.  Meadows bristled with tactile hush, – the very roots playfully inspected by low swerving gusts which without warning suddenly would surge up, bursting clear and jubilant from a gap in the grass, to rejoin the surface current. Much of the forest in concert swayed solemnly, but the diligent observer would have noted dotting the flanking elevations in crucial positions amid the chime, stood sentry Coniferae, ominously firm yet acknowledging in generous respects. As I passed through the thicket there intimated a mysterious parting of things on approach, that closed to my heel, swallowing before it fell, the very dust hurled by my arrival. It was as though an agreement had whispered over the lands, that I had consent to saunter unhindered and accepted, a brother lost to the years, and finally come home from his wilds.

Though all the day long, storm clouds had moaned the difficulty of holding verve, I found it trying nonetheless to suppose a more lenient setting than I’d found in the dandelion meadows where I lay a good hour. With none but the breeze for company and fits of chimeric spray escaped and washing the distant hilltops to delight my attentions, there is sufficient shelter and entertainment here no doubt, should the lid relenting begin to weep, and in doing so arrest the course of any traveller. There remained however, much of the valley to reach and while the thought of staying had qualified it’s charisma, worsening tempers in the sky did thrust a buried preference forward, impelling thus a need to gather at once my last looks and be on my way.
So into the great Maitai I pressed deeper, neither hurrying nor with delay, and with the constant threat of a downpour hanging where I went. I can tell you, that time in the meadow with my ear to the Earth, and feeling the heartbeat of Thunder throbbing all the way through, indeed was the finest hour of the day.

Setting off from the hostel to Nelson town in the early evening, to take my final walk of this December 8th, one event of disagreeable familiarity transpired as I approached the Collingwood bridge. No sooner had I marked a black portentousness in the summits, now buried in shroud of pending tumult, than it barked recognition and volleyed at once towards and upon me loosing an increasingly light-hearted cloudburst that suffered no malice to it, and within mere seconds tapered into a drizzle. How six years ago coming to that same bridge I met with a similar inexplicable wave that did rush to welcome me my first hour. Although I had not since been still, having lapped the Earth over many times, and numerous personal revolutions undergone to the fact I am almost somebody different entirely, it was here finally the fretting sky had caught up with me.

dannyjamesblogNelsonNewZealand1/2

dannyjamesblogNelsonNewZealand2/2

dannyjamesblogNelsonNewZealand3/2

DannyJamesblogNelsonNewZealand4/2

Nelson, New Zealand 2013

Nelson, New Zealand 2013

101: The pavement

They spread themselves o’er the sun-gladdened pavement consoled for the rare effect, and how nice, I thought, to be unstifled of anything at all, and mightily wished would it last that all my souls journeys or recesses were so unshod as my weary soles presently. Perhaps, but for the binding, no soothing completes, or prevails relief. That some constraint is significant if we are to appreciate consent of our wild hearts release, and enjoy a true and profound liberty. It occurred to me then, turning my absorptions above the boulevard, to what little sky remains unobscured; past those glass peaks that cloak the day under shade and thwart nights embrace with synthetic stars: long how it has been since my toes have at all felt a gentle meadows kiss, or a cold streams truth, that being detained have I succumbed to concretes treason. Have we too hardened become, unfeeling like to the bitumen?

96

It required no less than three separate walks today to reestablish good physical vigour and a more charitable mood, than otherwise would have succeeded sedentarily. New and curious, and I dare say, nearer to ones innateness are the thoughts and resolutions that unsought, will gently approach if the avenues are unfamiliar and no station fixed to the pilgrimage. Every original detail beholds a sensory deliciousness, that one derives thus an improved line of questioning, than rather mysteries point, and though none the wiser, there is advantage.

88

Upon waking, recover a quiet place to the skies exhibit, and hold there a harmony of clear and untainted perception. Consider the airs fond occupants; silent clouds that, straying one reach to the other, renew themselves in hopes your notice to keep; the bashful sun, by your own radiance reduced, steals away with its shame to the cotton shroud and looks with sad revere. How all of nature so cherishes you.

79: Wonderwall

I happened upon the corner of Earth today, and suspended there by a decimated sun, it was not grief that so utterly wrought, but a pure and heaping rejoice to the heart. I realised then that striving brought age too early, and if this was the great engulf, the end of all things, it seems I’d been saved at the last hour.

DannyJames.com.au/79:wonderwall

73: West

I took West my walk today, to be nigh the Sun as she dies behind the lime prairie. The East with its darker dominion presses a blue-violet engulf and nothing can tempt me thence hath not warmer magnanimity than even a failing Winter Sun, that toppling at last hath brought down with her wan, sections of oblivion’s curtain, shaking to attention the Eastern sentry Stars. Her lamenting vapoury aids assemble, and the woeful fray permits my furtive ascension upon the lavender smears to make a smuggled and diffident escape through tangerine tears, and survive a principle legacy;

that is to shine irreverently and unconditionally with all thy worldly might, a blinding and suffuse benevolence upon all beings and their conduct, just and unjust alike, before the night, as surely it will, envelops us all.

62: Discoursing with intellectuals

Deliver us from the monotony of fools?

Perhaps sir, the intellectuals will bury themselves first.

Perhaps thy introspections, though striking may they be, are boorish and unuseful to common minds that into thy calculation saunter, and who benefit the better from deliberate action of the limbs, than rather prolonged deliberation. In truth, there are many brands of intelligence under the human scope; those whom thou wouldst consider dullards, that pay no invest to such stale and vain pontificating, might enjoy a maturating emotional intelligence beyond the reckoning of the super thinker who recites the technique of heartache that has not its awfulness stood, but sits dry in his library studying and forecasting the climate though rain still wets and suns still set, and tilts he at a draft condemning the impression for hurricane. It is not correctness nor helpful to censure anyone would not entertain thy admonishment, neither is it a defect in them if thy virtues do not their thoughts inhabit. The campaigns of fault-finders have always met with unconscious success, and closed at their own feet. Nay, deliver us indeed from the foolishness of wise men who surmise their own limit for world’s end. The many components of human aspects are, in the tiniest significance, so entire that we’ll never exhaust one of her capacities, but the ripening be assured, as all but youth well know, is ever ongoing – conceivably the perfect human monotony; for along the aeon of this human diversity, there is no tedium so diminishing and diminishment starved, save the concepts of ‘each other,’ and ‘better than.’ It does not befall a single star to illumine the midnight shade, but by every star, bright and humble are enchanting evenings made.

46

How long will you stray, with all your certainty against the tiny intuition that pleads your unheeding concern before, admitting you are lost, turning back to collect it sobbing on the forest floor?

35

It has ventured into my reckoning that for all my dear figuring on savage hunches and meditations of wild roving, an element of motion is needed to stir the circulations. It is a symmetry thus, to shun from time to time the genial hut of my thoughts for emprise into the enchanting theme of my refuge, or but airs to none inhale.