This World Is Painted On A Wild

There's An Elegiac Quality In Watching [american Wilderness] Go, Because It's Our Own Myth, The American Frontier, That's Deteriorating Before Our Eyes. I Feel A Deep Sorrow That My Kids Will Never Get To See What I've Seen, And Their Kids Will See Nothing; There's A Deep Sadness Whenever I Look At Nature Now.

I ... Had What Kierkegaard Called 'the Sickness Of Infinitude,' Wandering From One Path To Another With No Real Recognition That I Was Embarked Upon A Search, And Scarcely A Clue As To What I Might Be After. I Only Knew That At The Bottom Of Each Breath There Was A Hollow Place That Needed To Be Filled.

The Mystical Perception (which Is Only "mystical" If Reality Is Limited To What Can Be Measured By The Intellect And Senses) Is Remarkably Consistent In All Ages And All Places. All Phenomena Are Processes, Connections, All Is In Flux...have The Mind Screens Knocked Away To See There Is No Real Edge To Anything, That In The Endless Interpenetration Of The Universe, A Molecular Flow, A Cosmic Energy Shimmers In All Stone And Steel As Well As Flesh.

The Concept Of Conservation Is A Far Truer Sign Of Civilization Than That Spoilation Of A Continent Which We Once Confused With Progress.

Simultaneously I Am Myself, The Child I Was, The Old Man I Will Be.