I Wonder If, In The Dark Night

Once In His Life, A Man Ought To Concentrate His Mind Upon The Remembered Earth, I Believe. He Ought To Give Himself Up To A Particular Landscape In His Experience, To Look At It From As Many Angles As He Can, To Wonder About It, To Dwell Upon It. He Ought To Imagine That He Touches It With His Hands At Every Season And Listens To The Sounds That Are Made Upon It. He Ought To Imagine The Creatures There And All The Faintest Motions Of The Wind. He Ought To Recollect The Glare Of Noon And All The Colors Of The Dawn And Dusk.

We Are What We Imagine. Our Very Existence Consists In Our Imagination Of Ourselves. Our Best Destiny Is To Imagine, At Least, Completely, Who And What, And That We Are. The Greatest Tragedy That Can Befall Us Is To Go Unimagined.

The Character Of The Landscape Changes From Hour To Hour, Day To Day, Season To Season. Nothing Of The Earth Can Be Taken For Granted; You Feel That Creation Is Going On In Your Sight. You See Things In The High Air That You Do Not See Farther Down In The Lowlands. In The High Country All Objects Bear Upon You, And You Touch Hard Upon The Earth. From My Home I Can See The Huge, Billowing Clouds; They Draw Close Upon Me And Merge With My Life.

It's A Landscape That Has To Be Seen To Be Believed. And, As I Say On Occasion, It May Have To Be Believed In Order To Be Seen.

Once In His Life A Man Ought To Concentrate His Mind Upon The Remembered Earth. He Ought To Give Himself Up To A Particular Landscape In His Experience; To Look At It From As Many Angles As He Can, To Wonder Upon It, And Dwell Upon It.