Man believed he had dominion over nature, and so proceeded to act as a ruler thereof, but it is a poor ruler indeed who destroys that over which he is supposed to govern.
As man continues his diligent work in re-writing his own nature, he continues further into dark, unknown territory. Already he has made it clear that he despises the natural world itself, as he no longer depends on it for any other reason than to mine the raw natural resources necessary to develop and enable his unnatural desires – steel for cars, precious metals for the microchips in his personal devices, and food that only goes half eaten.
“Man’s relations with nature have been altered radically, have become indirect. The old immediateness has been lost, for now his relations are transmitted by mathematics or by instruments. Abstract and formalized, nature has lost all concreteness; having become inorganic and technical, it has lost the quality of real experience.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy … Continue reading Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken
Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, … Continue reading Robert Frost’s Mending Wall
I. Hear the sledges with the bells-- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To … Continue reading Poe: The Bells
You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath- And they shall seek till it is light. Then … Continue reading Flexner: All Souls Day, 1917