I remember my English teacher cursing Thoreau's name, over his Transcendental poetry.
How cliche, how stupid, how could a man fall in love with the trees?
Nature, the world around us, sure it's beautiful, water and plants and dirt and rocks.
But is it so beautiful that it's worth it to leave modern comfort behind? To live among the green?
Dear Mrs. B, I finally figured it out. No man has ever fallen in love with the grass on the ground, nor the clouds in the sky.
When they say they love 'Nature,' what they mean was never shrubbery or stones.
Nature is the absence of man made obstacles. Nature is living outside of the torture we hand crafted.
To fall in love with nature is to fall in love with the natural state of one's own mind.
To love being free, dropping the stress and suffering of the world.
The flowers and leaves are lovely bonuses, but can't compare to the sight of a smile, unplagued by fret of tomorrow's trials.
Your concrete bones and plastic bag skin holds a truth, deep inside industrial lies.
The truth is, you were never meant to be here.
Endless ideas, endless places to go. We were blessed, as men, with the power to create art, the power to speak, the power to love.
And what we've chosen to with these powers, is to invent reasons to be upset.
The green in your wallet controls your every move, the hand and it's strings loom above you like a nasty storm cloud rolling through.
But even storm clouds can rinse you off and help you start anew.
The ocean, countless miles of unanswered questions. It's as beautiful as it is terrifying.
When did we start fearing the unknown, instead of loving it?
Around the same time we decided perfection was always to be the end goal, I presume.
The same time endless possibilities and an infinite universe became 'as much as you can afford' and your 'good as it can get' one bedroom apartment.
A tragic victim of this, all of us are.
Anyone who's ever thought "I don't want it, it's too expensive"
Anyone who's ever had to talk themself out of a dream
Those who dare to dream are rewarded with perpetuating the cycle
Rising from bottom to top isn't nearly as inspirational as it is exhausting, difficult and painfully slow.
We only have 70 years to live- how did it become the norm to spend 40 of them earning that opportunity?
I'm in love with nature. I fell in love long ago.
I don't mean the grass that makes me itch, I don't mean the sun that burns my skin.
I don't mean the bugs or the mold or the dirt.
I mean the spirit of life. The thrill of learning, the excitement of being free.
I'm I'm love with the idea that someday, I can return to nature. I can find a way to escape this cage and see the world for what it is, and not just what I was able to pay for.
Maybe Thoreau was crazy, maybe he didn't have it all right, but you can't hate a man for hating men.
Especially not when men's greatest weakness is man.
His name is plastered on countless papers for a concept thousands before him, and millions after him have discovered all the same.
And yet those papers with his name on them still cost .30 dollars a piece, and it's still usual to be more afraid of nature than afraid of dying surrounded by bright white light and endless horizons of grey, filled to the brim with dull-eyed people just like you.
Sometimes cliche is okay, and even more often, there's a reason it became so common.
Dear Ms. B, I'm sorry for the way you resent transcendental themes.
It's not your fault your life's been filled with less colorful ideals. And there's no shame in loving that for yourself.
But I'd love to see you discover nature for what it is, through your eyes instead of ink on a page. I hope for you, the world reveals itself in the most vibrant ways.
And maybe then you can learn to love poems about nature .
