Long spans of roadways tend to ignite reflection. Forests, rivers, and towns pass by with an ephemeral quality. Every home along the way is a fossilization of life stories. Every church, a tollgate of redemption. Every pub, a bastion of merriment and company. The evocation of these feelings flashes across one’s mind as the car glides along. Barren stretches space the material to such a distance as to incite meaning yet again. It appears to be found in the areas between, in the gaps of the material. Like a weed forcing itself through concrete, the human spirit finds a way to fight back to the surface. In nature, the chaotic growth of the bush is the norm. In cities, this growth is tamed, pruned, and restricted. Meaning is much the same as nature. Perhaps meaning is nature itself, to be raw and genuine. We are tightly fused to the natural world in this regard. Similarly, meaning is tamed, pruned, and restricted in the tendrils of cities. The will to break free is deep within but is caged by the framework of society.
Walls have been erected throughout the history of the world, literal and symbolic. The symbolic barriers of culture prevent deviance into the untrodden paths of thought, which are potential paths to meaning. Many feel the need to journey down these roads, but do not heed the call. It is an echoing dream that internally prods oneself; however, externally society enforces its cage. It disincentivizes exploration by disincentivizing nature. In cities all one can explore is artificial constructs of nature: parks, gardens, river walkways, etc. These are limited and subconsciously enforce the cognitive walls.
Walking along a beach path in a tranquil coastal town, the air is filled with a salty breeze. Chirps of seabirds ring out as the crash of waves break upon rocks. The sun brushes the horizon, casting pink, purple colors across the sky and reflected in the sea. There are no walls to be found in the rural. Society does not afflict these people with needless confinement as do the larger cities of the world. There is emancipation in this quiet place. Quiet not in its privation of audible sound, but in its cognitive reverence. The mind is unencumbered here, free to explore. Nature, as well, is an untamed spiral of chaos and beauty. It is a self-regulated spectacle of harmony, attainable only in the absence of the material.
Spirited locals were likely born here or drawn by its magnetism. It is a journey of renouncement and an attainment of truth. Just as the material destroys meaning, the rejection of the material rekindles it. A group of men sit in a remote driveway at sunset, their laughter tugged away by a fresh spring breeze. This is where meaning, or connection, seems to be the most tangible. The men in the driveway embody it. The material is torn away entirely, and all there is are men, lawn chairs, beers, and nature. Regardless of their topic of conversation, this reduction of the material reveals a hidden truth. The simple life holds the answers. Seeing it from a distance, one ponders what the answer is. It may be a transient answer, one that changes with the course of the wind. Embracing this transience of existence may be the only path to meaning. This idea will continue to be explored in later texts.
Next: Sydney
