On (not) reading books
Aug. 24th, 2014 09:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blatherskiteI subscribe to a weekly cornucopia of musing on the written word, named "Brain Pickings". In this week's issue, I found an intriguing poem by the Chinese poet Yang Wanli (ca. 12th century), in translation by Jonathan Chaves. As a book lover, it reminded me of a few things best not forgotten amidst one's love of books, and specifically a reminder about the Buddhist concept of mindful presence:
Don’t read books!
Don’t chant poems!
When you read books your eyeballs wither away
leaving the bare sockets.
When you chant poems your heart leaks out slowly
with each word.
People say reading books is enjoyable.
People say chanting poems is fun.
But if your lips constantly make a sound
like an insect chirping in autumn,
you will only turn into a haggard old man.
And even if you don’t turn into a haggard old man,
it’s annoying for others to have to hear you.
It’s so much better
to close your eyes, sit in your study,
lower the curtains, sweep the floor,
burn incense.
It’s beautiful to listen to the wind,
listen to the rain,
take a walk when you feel energetic,
and when you’re tired go to sleep.
The same concept applies to one's computer, where I spend far too many hours each week dealing with words, some of which I read aloud to annoy or entertain Shoshanna. By coincidence, I decided that yesterday, I would abandon my computer and my various literary obligations, and travel a couple hours north with Shoshanna to the Mont Tremblant region. She was officiating at a wedding, and I figured I'd wander around a bit in the woods while she wed the youngsters.
The Mont Tremblant area is near the northern limit of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence forest, where the forests are starting to transition into boreal forest. Boreal forests are interestingly different from the temperate hardwoods most Canadians are familiar with. The stands are dominated by black spruce and larch (tamarack) in lowlying or wetter areas, and by white spruce and jack pine or white pine in higher or drier areas, with white birch and poplar the main deciduous broadleaved trees (called "hardwoods" for traditional forestry reaons). There's a smattering of red oak, mountain maple, yellow birch, and other broadleaved trees, but in most places they're distinctly in the minority. You see more of the southern hardwoods on south-facing slopes and more of the northern conifers on north-facing slopes. This is something I've read about, but it's always a pleasure to see something bookish "in the bark". And, of course, trees haven't read any of these books, so they often blithely ignore these "rules" of where they should be. A good example of mindful seeing trumping bookish abstractions.
It's been a long time (decades) since I spent any time in boreal forest. I walked Shoshanna over to the wedding site, kissed her for good luck, and then left her to get acquainted with her co-officiant and wandered off to spend a short but mindful time wandering around the woods. The wedding was on the grounds of Domaine Saint Bernard, an ecocenter near the Mont Tremblant national (i.e., provincial) park. The center has a nice lake a short walk from the wedding site, so I spent about an hour walking slowly around the lake, pausing periodically to sit and listen, sniff the coniferous air (a distinct dry and enthusiastically woody smell that I love), and look around for animals.
When you're slow and quiet, and pause to listen, you come across a great many things you'd otherwise miss. For example, I sat in one place to munch a handful of cherries, and noted that I'd seated myself atop a sandbank that was home to a wasp nest. I moved elsewhere with all deliberate haste, though the wasps were mostly ignoring me and minding their own business. Shortly afterwards, found myself standing not 5 feet from a red squirrel (also known as a "pine squirrel"). These guys are usually quite skittish, and prefer to climb trees and swear at you in a voice you'd expect from something the size of a raccoon -- not from something about half the size of a typical grey squirrel. This guy was eating a mushroom bigger than he was. I stood stock still so as not to alarm him, and watched for about 10 minutes as he packed away the mushroom, providing proof that the inside of things can be far larger than the outside.
Also saw a lone Canada goose cruising the lake (though I was hoping initially for a loon), a great many small fish swimming in the shallows, dragonflies hawking about the shoreline, a handful of bullfrogs (my favorite frogs since the summer my family spent in this part of the province and my sister and I spent the summer catching and releasing bullfrogs), a lovely bold toad I might have stepped on had I been in more of a hurry and paying less attention to the ground at my feet, black-capped chickadees, and other birds that were too shy for me to get a good look at. There were also a great many tiny herbs and mushrooms you can't possibly see if you're more focused on walking than on seeing, but also some orange mushrooms so bright they seemed almost fluorescent. You couldn't miss them even were you wearing sunglasses -- unless you were focusing more on the trail than on what surrounds it.
The prize of the day came while we were returning home and crossing the northernmost of the river bridges that lead back to the island of Montreal. Looking towards the river, I saw a bald eagle perched atop one of the lights! Couldn't have been anything else: it was huge, had a gleaming white head, and a thick, heavy, chocolatey brown body. I pointed it out to Shoshanna as we whizzed past, and she told me there were two others I'd missed. That's amazing because I don't think I've ever heard of bald eagles in this part of the country. I e-mailed our local raptor expert, who confirmed that bald eagles are returning after years of absence.
Woods are my favorite place for mindfulness, and a nice escape from books. Still love my books, but yesterday was a nice reminder to stop every so often and admire the real world.
Don’t read books!
Don’t chant poems!
When you read books your eyeballs wither away
leaving the bare sockets.
When you chant poems your heart leaks out slowly
with each word.
People say reading books is enjoyable.
People say chanting poems is fun.
But if your lips constantly make a sound
like an insect chirping in autumn,
you will only turn into a haggard old man.
And even if you don’t turn into a haggard old man,
it’s annoying for others to have to hear you.
It’s so much better
to close your eyes, sit in your study,
lower the curtains, sweep the floor,
burn incense.
It’s beautiful to listen to the wind,
listen to the rain,
take a walk when you feel energetic,
and when you’re tired go to sleep.
The same concept applies to one's computer, where I spend far too many hours each week dealing with words, some of which I read aloud to annoy or entertain Shoshanna. By coincidence, I decided that yesterday, I would abandon my computer and my various literary obligations, and travel a couple hours north with Shoshanna to the Mont Tremblant region. She was officiating at a wedding, and I figured I'd wander around a bit in the woods while she wed the youngsters.
The Mont Tremblant area is near the northern limit of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence forest, where the forests are starting to transition into boreal forest. Boreal forests are interestingly different from the temperate hardwoods most Canadians are familiar with. The stands are dominated by black spruce and larch (tamarack) in lowlying or wetter areas, and by white spruce and jack pine or white pine in higher or drier areas, with white birch and poplar the main deciduous broadleaved trees (called "hardwoods" for traditional forestry reaons). There's a smattering of red oak, mountain maple, yellow birch, and other broadleaved trees, but in most places they're distinctly in the minority. You see more of the southern hardwoods on south-facing slopes and more of the northern conifers on north-facing slopes. This is something I've read about, but it's always a pleasure to see something bookish "in the bark". And, of course, trees haven't read any of these books, so they often blithely ignore these "rules" of where they should be. A good example of mindful seeing trumping bookish abstractions.
It's been a long time (decades) since I spent any time in boreal forest. I walked Shoshanna over to the wedding site, kissed her for good luck, and then left her to get acquainted with her co-officiant and wandered off to spend a short but mindful time wandering around the woods. The wedding was on the grounds of Domaine Saint Bernard, an ecocenter near the Mont Tremblant national (i.e., provincial) park. The center has a nice lake a short walk from the wedding site, so I spent about an hour walking slowly around the lake, pausing periodically to sit and listen, sniff the coniferous air (a distinct dry and enthusiastically woody smell that I love), and look around for animals.
When you're slow and quiet, and pause to listen, you come across a great many things you'd otherwise miss. For example, I sat in one place to munch a handful of cherries, and noted that I'd seated myself atop a sandbank that was home to a wasp nest. I moved elsewhere with all deliberate haste, though the wasps were mostly ignoring me and minding their own business. Shortly afterwards, found myself standing not 5 feet from a red squirrel (also known as a "pine squirrel"). These guys are usually quite skittish, and prefer to climb trees and swear at you in a voice you'd expect from something the size of a raccoon -- not from something about half the size of a typical grey squirrel. This guy was eating a mushroom bigger than he was. I stood stock still so as not to alarm him, and watched for about 10 minutes as he packed away the mushroom, providing proof that the inside of things can be far larger than the outside.
Also saw a lone Canada goose cruising the lake (though I was hoping initially for a loon), a great many small fish swimming in the shallows, dragonflies hawking about the shoreline, a handful of bullfrogs (my favorite frogs since the summer my family spent in this part of the province and my sister and I spent the summer catching and releasing bullfrogs), a lovely bold toad I might have stepped on had I been in more of a hurry and paying less attention to the ground at my feet, black-capped chickadees, and other birds that were too shy for me to get a good look at. There were also a great many tiny herbs and mushrooms you can't possibly see if you're more focused on walking than on seeing, but also some orange mushrooms so bright they seemed almost fluorescent. You couldn't miss them even were you wearing sunglasses -- unless you were focusing more on the trail than on what surrounds it.
The prize of the day came while we were returning home and crossing the northernmost of the river bridges that lead back to the island of Montreal. Looking towards the river, I saw a bald eagle perched atop one of the lights! Couldn't have been anything else: it was huge, had a gleaming white head, and a thick, heavy, chocolatey brown body. I pointed it out to Shoshanna as we whizzed past, and she told me there were two others I'd missed. That's amazing because I don't think I've ever heard of bald eagles in this part of the country. I e-mailed our local raptor expert, who confirmed that bald eagles are returning after years of absence.
Woods are my favorite place for mindfulness, and a nice escape from books. Still love my books, but yesterday was a nice reminder to stop every so often and admire the real world.