Artifact 1: Whitman Analysis Paper (Losing Preconceptions: A Spiritual Endeavor)

Losing Preconceptions: A Spiritual Endeavor

I begin my journey, my accepted challenge from Walt Whitman to find myself. I have resolved to take the general guidance laid out by Whitman to “read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of [my] life”. To carry out my excursion, whereupon the revelations did flow, I set out on separate occasions to experience the power of nature through Whitman’s writing. In addition, I will compare my impressions granted through nature to that of a small, concealed desk with a fluorescent lamp upon which I write this analysis.

The first experience I encounter as I stroll along is a grey mist hanging in the atmosphere like a hazy barrier guarding the sun. It sets a somber mood, singing fragile songs of mortality. Whitman observes the cycles of life as he declares “I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women” (Section 6). And yet I envision as Whitman does that “They are alive and well somewhere… all goes onward and outward, nothing collapses” (6). I come to an understanding of cycles as I observe the ground I walk upon. The muddy, untamed soil shows that, although men can erect buildings, blacktop, and barriers, nature is always the final judge. Nature precedes mankind, harboring tales of wisdom of the unceasing succession of life. The creations of a higher power, shown in the glory of nature, will be ever-present with a young and strong heartbeat even when the last man gasps his final breath.

The cool, heavy air seeps through my lungs, invigorating my every step. The gusting force seems to have a personality and power of its own. As Whitman notes “The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless” (2). I agree that the wind does not smell sweet as a rose, or have the apparent beauty of a sparrow. However I believe the wind, through its blustery blows, shows charisma unmatched elsewhere in nature. It is this aspect of the outdoors that had me “wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee” (10). The wind ripples through my hair as I stride along.

A deer runs through the clearing bounding gracefully, and yet with full force as if being followed in hot pursuit. However, no antagonist appears, and the creatures jumps high and far as if it were flaunting its remarkable capacity for the world to see. Its powerful legs are thrusting in rhythmic pattern.

Trees bristle and sing with the rattling of leaves. The tall, erect trees “and the limitless leaves stiff” create a beautiful symphony of sounds with the wind (5).

A bird sings a lovely proposal that is soon mirrored afar in the distance. Whitman hears a similar noise in his travels as it “sounds down to [him] like an invitation” (14). Perhaps this calling is a symbol that nature communicates in many tongues that man has yet to decipher. Whitman proposes a similar idea as he declares “I see in them and myself the same old law” (14).

The sun is now out in the inviting afternoon. The bright, humming beams extend to me like a warm embrace from a long lost love. I close my eyes and recollect on memories of reunion. As Whitman adds to the sensation “the feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun” (2).  I can relate to this utter feeling of pure motivation the energizing sun grants me as I sit on a rock, lost in the majesty of the day.

Walking through the city, the cool, whistling breeze carries sounds of ringing bells and soft murmurs of “god be with you.” Mother’s daughters and sons skip gleefully toward a bakery, surely to receive compensation for quiet and attentive behavior. The small town awakens with lively and rejuvenated step. Whitman takes a similarly doting outlook on the city scene noting the “blab of the pave, tires and carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders” (8). These words are spoken fondly and in good nature, which in part mirrors my urban observations.

As I recollect on these fond memories of time spent under the cool embracing touch of Mother Nature, I take great notice of how it contrasts the more constricting habitat of the indoors. free and unconquerable climate dwarfs the synthetic makings of academic institutions. As I sit in a two-by-four cubical, the first notion that strikes my mind is temperament. The humming circuited lamp stands still above my head. The air is lukewarm and there are no unanticipated gusts to be found. As I sit and recollect on my journey, I yearn for the freedom and sanctity of the outdoors.

“Song of Myself”

1

I walk upon a knoll, the sun enticing my every step with warm glow,

Steel pistol clinging to my waist and knife concealed;

I nod to my fellow traveler,

with mixed emotion we travel nervous, excited, uncertain;

We elevate, I stop to admire the symbols of past torchbearers who humbly mark the land;

A Moose and her calf swagger by flaunting the sheer power they have been endowed,

A curse echoes and the moose look up in alarm,

Hearts race as survival instincts and adrenaline rush,

The Moose disappear;

As we walk, the trees become laden with clinging ivory chains that droop from above,

the hitchhiking passengers they contain scurry across our packs,

The bosom upon which all men nurse belonging to the mother of all things natural,

Quickly changes from comforting and bright, to frigid and gloomy,

I am set free from my juvenile comforts,

I walk among the earth with those I love by my side blindly into the abyss.

2

The room is gloomy, the furnishings spotted,

the glowing red and yellow eyes locked in a thousand-mile stare,

music reverberates slowly across the distance with songs of earthly pleasure,

I challenge the rhetoric of the song,

My future and the path to societal success beckon me to silently close the door.

 

 

Reflection

Through Walt Whitman’s poetry, I have learned that the beauty and glory of nature is truly timeless. I understand and can relate to essence of nature that Whitman describes in his poetry, and see the same underlying meanings he once saw. Although clothing, language, and methods of travel may have changed, I can still live vicariously through Whitman’s urban descriptions. I also see Whitman’s peculiar connection with animals, and the way they communicate. I see this not only through his description, but I can relate to the same perceptions over one hundred and fifty years later.  I can honestly say that Walt Whitman has inspired me to evaluate the many aspects of my life through nature. And through this I believe I have come away with a different perspective on the world.