All I know is a door into the dark.
Seamus Heaney – The Forge
One of the trees previously unfamiliar to me is the Japanese Elm, Zelkova serrata, still clinging on to the last of its beautiful ochreish leaves. Rare in the wild, its name derives from the Georgian for ‘bars’ and ‘rock’, reflecting the hardness of the wood, used in architecture and as railings. I was interested to discover that Georgian is what is known as a Kartvelian language (or South Caucasian). It is not thought to be related to any other language genealogy, making it one of the world’s primary language families. There are approximately 5.2 million speakers of Kartvelian languages worldwide (mostly in Russia, the United States, Israel and Turkey).
It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable, experience to be lost in the woods any time. Not till we are completely lost, or turned round, – for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost, – do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of nature. Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realise where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.
Henry Thoreau – Walden
In the garden, or at my desk, there’s always more to know, to find out and I often feel lost in the midst of it all. I’m especially aware of that in this University town so dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Every day I am learning something new, expanding my small view of the universe. Today’s lesson was about chlorophyll (courtesy of astronomer Bob Fosbury) – how it both reflects and transmits light, like a thin scattering of snow on the surface of a leaf; how it existed on earth long before we did and made (and still makes) human life possible.
I find myself thinking a lot about the colour green at the moment, and about the limits of what I, and we all, know – in my mind they’re somehow connected. Bob also showed me an infra-red photograph of an avenue of trees, reflecting so much light beyond the range of what we can see. As if what is visible to the eye weren’t astonishing enough…
A student came in bearing a quote from what she said was the pre-Socratic philosopher Meno. It read, “How will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?’…
Love, wisdom, grace, inspiration – how do you go about finding these things that are in some ways about extending the boundaries of the self into unknown territory, about becoming someone else?…
Socrates says you can know the unknown because you remember it. You already know what seems unknown; you have been here before, but only when you were someone else. This only shifts the location of the unknown other to unknown self. Meno says, Mystery. Socrates says, On the contrary, Mystery. That much is certain. It can be a kind of compass.
Rebecca Solnit – A Field Guide to Getting Lost