Annotated

"The concept of country, homeland, dwelling place becomes simplfied as 'the environment'--that is, what surrounds us. Once we see our place, our part of the world, as surrounding us, we have already made a profound division between it and ourselves. We have given up the understanding--dropped it out of our language and so out of our thought--that we and our country create one another, depend on one anoutther, are literally part of one another; that our land passes in and out of our bodies just as our bodies pass in and out out of our land; that as we and our land ar part of one another, so all who are living as neighbors here, human and plant and animal, are part of one another, and so cannot possilby flourish alone; that, therefore, our culture must be our response to our place, our culture and our place are images of each other and inseparable rom each other, and so neither can be better than the other."

--Wendell Berry, from The Unsettling of America

It was here that I had to pull out the mechanical pencil and start taking notes. I have read Berry in the past, but here--more obviously and beautifully than before--he ties together so many of my thoughts and understandings of the world. He cleanly weaves notions of character ethics, ecological insight, community association and connectivity, political action, and personhood together in admirable and delightful ways. If it weren't for the glass of wine and that whole four hours of sleep last night, I like to think I would have sat down and read half of it before dinner; but alas, my circadian rhythm and the evening warmth had other plans in mind.

In other news, my breathing and concentration have greatly improved because of walks and focused breathing. I feel a much greater sense of peace and contemplation about what's going on around me, even at work--though it is less obvious at five or six in the morning. I looked at the faces of drivers as I walked from the supermarket parking lot munching on a sweet red bell pepper. This afternoon and evening have been simply beautiful and I wondered why so few people were out on bicycles or walking. I watched people fill up their gas tanks and then distracted myself with the musical chirping of insects in a vacant lot with a drainage ditch. At first, I didn't know what attracted me to stop and attend to the space: I looked around, seeing the familiar emptiness of unused suburban spaces, but after glancing back to the service station, I noticed the rich sounds around me. I finished my pepper and then examined the grasses and insects, then wondered at how I looked, striding through the tall grass parallel the sidewalk.

At work, when Carla was making garlic butter spread for sandwiches, I noticed the happy, rapid, complex beating of the pastry paddle on the immense mixer. The bowls click-clack back and forth in their loose casing, while the paddle strikes the edges and the upraised center of the bowl; it reminded me of the beats of tin drums and I thought of recording it, then finding other rhythms in the workplace. One of my high school projects was a "found music" project, inspired by Spalding Gray's Swimming to Cambodia and something I have since forgotten. I incidentally gave the piece a loose beat with my steps, which then overlapped with the current of the ravine by the school; a little girl spoke and the family dog barked mildly, and I found--or so I felt--a bit of the everyday music we often do not hear. Today has been a day of music, found and made and unexpected, which reassures me. Music surrounds us, enlivens our day, and it made itself known to me today so that I might listen for it more attentively in the future.