Final

It seemed like an average day as I got off work around 5:00 pm up around Lamarck. I had quickly walk home, grabbing dinner along the way and the necessary baguette, got a quick beer at Le Cave, a bar near my home. I left and made the last part of my walk home. As I walked up my stairs and into my house, a man approaches me. I am not startled. I am used to it since every other day he greets me before walking through my door. I don’t know much about him, and I don’t know if he lives in my neighborhood or if he is homeless, but regardless, he is not bothersome in any way, and is quite nice. He asks “How you doing?” in his thick british accent. I tell him what I always do “Im good, have a good night.” and walk into my house. Its my every day ritual is essence, having lived here for 10 years now, coming to Paris from rural Virginia in hopes of finding myself, and ending up a typical life here. It sometimes seems like a chore rather than a ritual, that is coming home but this time was different, expecting the typical “Hey!” from my wife and broken french from my 5 year old twins, I got nothing when I shouted into the house “Sarah? Hello? Anyone home?” The house was dark, unusually dead. I quickly looked around the house, and found that no one was home, not even the dog, Cliff. I was confused, so I decided I would call Sarah, but pour myself a drink first. I went into the basement, took the tarp off some storage boxes. I found the box titled “Records” and took out one of the bottles of Monkey Shoulder. As I closed it up I found a letter with my name on it “Michael” taped obviously to the top of the box, somehow not having appeared to me as I opened up the box. I quickly opened up the letter and read it. I took a seat on the cold concrete floor. I couldn't digest it. Sarah had written it. She said that she couldn't take it anymore, and that she knew about what I had  been hiding, all the bottles in the boxes. She said that she was going to take a break and bring the kids with her. She wrote that she expected me to see this pretty quickly. I tossed the letter into a corner of the room. As I sat on this cold ground I began to breakdown, and an hour later most of the bottle was finished. I got up, picked two more bottles out of the box and walked up stairs. I looked out the front door and saw the man, the british man who always greets me home. I grabbed a coat and walked out the door. I said “Hey” and got his attention. I asked him if he had seen my wife leave? He replied “Yea I did, she was crying, so I figured it out pretty quickly. Sorry sir.” I took a breath and looked into the moonlight. With the two bottles of whiskey in my hand and I asked the man “Whats your name?” he said it was Ronnie. I then asked him “You want to take a walk Ronnie?” He slowly said “Yea sure, do I get some of that though?” pointing to the two bottles. I told him “If you can hold one you can have one, so lets go.” as I handed him one of the bottles.  I started to walk up the street and he followed.

We took a short walk to Sacre Cœr. We walked up many stairs and took many falls along the way. The short walk began to feel like a long walk. Walking up the hill towards the church, I slipped onto my face due to the rain that had fallen hours earlier. Luckily it didn't hurt too much because my whole body had felt numb at this point. Ron, who was a yard back ran up to me, helping me get back up on my feet and hoisting me up the rest of the way till w got to the steps. He put me down on the step carefully, very carefully. I looked up at him and thanked him. “Whats your story, who are you?” he told me that he was just a wanderer from the UK on his journey, a journey which’s current stop was in Paris. He then added “But it doesn't matter, don’t worry about it.” That may be to some a scary and creepy reply but I wasn't made uncomfortable maybe it, I didn't think he meant it that way, but in a friendly, unselfish way. We sat drinking our bottles like teenagers drinking 40’s in a park after school, but got the beautiful view of the lit up holy looking church and Paris skyline. After a long talk, a talk that was emotionally amplified by the beautiful setting, Ron slapped my thigh and said lets go. We go stumbling to the closest liquor store and buy one more safety bottle. We then decide to go to a park, although closed. We take a long, out of the way train ride and end up at Parc de Buttes Chaumont. We both jump up and climb over the fence, impressed with ourselves ability, with the addition of the whiskey in our systems. We walk all around the Park seeing all types of views, some invisible to beauty due to the darkness. I feel at peace though, even in the dark where I cant necessarily appreciate the physical beauty. Ron and I sit down on the edge of a pond as the moon reflected off it, illuminating the view of the, what appeared to be a watchtower. He tells me all this is man made, not natural. For a second I am struck with disappointment, but somehow through my drunken stupor find it irrelevant and insignificant. While at that one moment thought about all parisian parks, I think about the artificial aspect that comes with most of them. I think how the authentic spirituality of nature lacks from an artificial park like this, but at the same time that does not mean I can't be better than that, and find a way to pull out some kind of realization from it sitting here in solitude, drinking, and talking with Ron, absent from anything and everything else. And so we did, we enjoyed it. All the different birds floating around and sleeping out on bushy areas around and in the pond brings reminds me, sitting there in the moonlight, of summers in Martha's Vineyard as a kid. I am reminded of a pond from my childhood house there, that also having many different ducks and birds, even swans coexisting in harmony. It looks just like those summer nights did, seeing slow, quiet movement in the water as the moon would let you peek onto them for minutes at a time before the moon covered it. It reminds me of sitting and watching the pond for hours at a time, the image of the moon hitting it, I'm there. I also start to notice the trees. People don't notice the little things, and I didn't till right then. Its true as I sit there and think how life, talk smells mean so much. People just don't appreciate smells, and how they can bring them to places in their memory, and upon our walk the trees and plants took me to a happy place in my mind, it took me back to rural Virginia, and took me back to meeting my wife and having my kids, and did not take me back to the negative aspects of my life, at least the ones I created that brought me to that very place. After yet again a long train ride, all of which seemed short at the time, acting as a child like nap between these unrelated ventures, we ended up at a burlesque club. I told Ron I didn't think this is what I needed right now in my life, but despite that, I ended up in the club legs crossed and uncomfortable like a nun shooting a porno. Ron takes my hand and starts dancing with me in the middle of the floor. Ron walks away for a sec and comes back. He tells me “Just open your mouth, trust me.” I stick my tongue open and feel a pill on my tongue. I swallow. We continue to dance, dancing with other people, the performers, even with security. From there all I remember was walking out of the club and smashing my bottle of Monkey Shoulder on the sidewalk  in an representation of pride I still had it with me, and looking around for Ron, but he wasn't there. I had just been with him, the whole time.I walk back into the club. I asked the person in the club where he was but they had no clue who I was talking about. I forget it all from there.

I wake up. Im in my bed. I run downstairs to see if anyones home. No one. I walk down to the basement and all the boxes are gone. I get a text from Sarah telling me she will come back, that she will give me a second chance, that she will help me get better because I do too. I look above her text and see that I had written a long apology note, laying the truth out, and making promises for the future. I find an email to her as well with the same. I wait all day watching TV, just waiting for Ron to show up in front of the house. He doesn’t. I feel I can breathe, I can appreciate this now, life, the one I wandered here for now. Whether this will slowly slip away, and become coping yet again as I saw it, I am not sure, but I feel free, like I should. I feel like you do after a cold, appreciating how nice it is to simply breath well. I think of a Wordsworth, Prelude quote "The earth is all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!” I do breath again. I don’t forget about that night. I don't forget about my memories and how they made me feel.  A day later I wait and see my life enrich as my family comes back to me, but still, no Ron. I tell my wife what I need to be the man I should, the best me is have the family move to America, back to my home town of Bluemont Virignia and that I miss home. She tells me she is here for me, and that “Yes.” she will do it. I miss home. I can breath now, in solitude, at home.

Catacombs

Je pris cette promenade, et comme un petit garçon était pensée est la chose la plus cool jamais. Il était un peu effrayant de voir des gens morts, mais il était bien parce qu'ils étaient morts depuis longtemps maintenant. Je suis aussi quelqu'un qui ne voit pas la peur dans des crânes ou squelettes donc je allait bien. Comme jeune garçon peut-être je serais. Je sais qu'un jour je vais aussi être simplement un crâne blanc sale quelque part forcée dans un petit espace en raison de la surpopulation.

Les touristes remplissent les catacombes comme le Louvre sur un samedi. Je tente de prendre des photos, mais il ya des gens dans ma façon. Je pense aussi prendre des photos est stupide parce qu'ils ne vont nulle part et il ya des photos en ligne. Les touristes seront touristes.

Après un certain temps, les os perdent leur signification. Je pense aux gens crânes étaient. Je pense que les os ont une signification zéro, ils ne nous montre pas la personne en aucune façon. Il est comme un terrain de football abandonné sans les joueurs et la foule, pas de viande. Je ressens de la compassion pour ces gens qui sont morts, mais en même temps, son il ya si longtemps qu'il est plus difficile aussi.

Je ne l'aime quand quelque chose d'intéressant et cool comme ça finit par avoir une connotation religieuse impliqué dans la tournée, ce qui était pas si grande.
Je pense que ce serait cool de sortir le soir, avec des gens de bien sûr. Non seulement, Inidana Jones n'a pas le faire tout seul, alors pourquoi devrais-je?

Je suis en français et 1 nul en français toujours, me jeter un sol osseuse vœux plait.

Fiction Walking Story (Ron)

It seemed like an average day as I got off work around 5:00 pm up around Lamarck. I had quick walk home, grabbing dinner along the way and the necessary baguette, got a quick beer at Le Cave, a bar near my home. I left and made the last part of my walk home. As I walked up my stairs and into my house, a man approaches me. I am not startled. I am used to it since every other day he greets me before walking through my door. I don’t know much about him, and I don’t know if he lives in my neighborhood or if he is homeless, but regardless, he is not bothersome in any way, and is quite nice. He asks “How you doing?” in his thick british accent. I tell him what I always do “Im good, have a good night.” and walk into my house. This time was different though, expecting the typical “Hey!” from my wife and broken french from my 5 year old twins, I got nothing when I shouted into the house “Sarah? Hello? Anyone home?” The house was dark, unusually dead. I quickly looked around the house, and found that no one was home, not even the dog, Cliff. I was confused, so I decided I would call Sarah, but pour myself a drink first. I went into the basement, took the tarp off some storage boxes. I found the box titled “Records” and took out one of the bottles of Monkey Shoulder. As I closed it up I found a letter with my name on it “Michael” taped obviously to the top of the box, somehow not having appeared to me as I opened up the box. I quickly opened up the letter and read it. I took a seat on the cold concrete floor. I couldn't digest it. Sarah had written it. She said that she couldn't take it anymore, and that she knew about what I had  been hiding, all the bottles in the boxes. She said that she was going to take a break and bring the kids with her. She wrote that she expected me to see this pretty quickly. I tossed the letter into a corner of the room. As I sat on this cold ground I began to breakdown, and an hour later most of the bottle was finished. I got up, picked two more bottles out of the box and walked up stairs. I looked out the front door and saw the man, the british man who always greets me home. I grabbed a coat and walked out the door. I said “Hey” and got his attention. I asked him if he had seen my wife leave? He replied “Yea I did, she was crying, so I figured it out pretty quickly. Sorry sir.” I took a breath and looked into the moonlight. With the two bottles of whiskey in my hand and I asked the man “Whats your name?” he said it was Ronnie. I then asked him “You want to take a walk Ronnie?” He slowly said “Yea sure, do I get some of that though?” pointing to the two bottles. I told him “If you can hold one you can have one, so lets go.” as I handed him one of the bottles.  I started to walk up the street and he followed.

We took a short walk to Sacre Cœr. We walked up many stairs and took many falls along the way. The short walk began to feel like a long walk. Walking up the hill towards the church, I slipped onto my face due to the rain that had fallen hours earlier. Luckily it didn't hurt too much because my whole body had felt numb at this point. Ron, who was a yard back ran up to me, helping me get back up on my feet and hoisting me up the rest of the way till w got to the steps. He put me down on the step carefully, very carefully. I looked up at him and thanked him. “Whats your story, who are you?” he told me that he was just a wanderer from the UK on his journey, a journey which’s current stop was in Paris. He then added “But it doesn't matter, don’t worry about it.” That may be to some a scary and creepy reply but I wasn't made uncomfortable maybe it, I didn't think he meant it that way, but in a friendly, unselfish way. We sat drinking our bottles like teenagers drinking 40’s in a park after school, but got the beautiful view of the lit up holy looking church and Paris skyline. After a long talk, a talk that was emotionally amplified by the beautiful setting, Ron slapped my thigh and said lets go. After a foggy walk down stairs for a change we ended up at a burlesque club. I told Ron I didn't think this is what I needed right now in my life, but despite that, I ended up in the club legs crossed and uncomfortable like a nun shooting a porno. From there all i remember was walking out of the club and smashing my bottle of Monkey Shoulder on the sidewalk and looking around for Ron, but he wasn't there. I asked the person in the club where he was but they had no clue who I was talking about. 

I wake up. Im in my bed. I run downstairs to see if anyones home. No one. I walk down to the basement and all the boxes are gone. I get a text from Sarah telling me she will come back, that she will give me a second chance, that she will help me get better because I do too. I look above her text and see that I had written a long apology note, laying the truth out, and making promises for the future. I find an email to her as well with the same. I wait all day watching TV, just waiting for Ron to show up in front of the house. He doesn’t. As life gets better and promises are fulfilled I never see Ron again. Was he real? 

2 Post Revision

I came to Paris to, as I simply describe, try finding myself a little, but not with a full on spiritual journey, but simply than that. I have learned that it may not have been the exact reason I came here, but more realizing what I want, what I don't want and learning to look at what I have, my life and all that it has with a more positive outlook. With realizing that finding myself is not this huge spiritual journey, that is not to say there isn't more I can learn about myself, things I love and things I hate, things I should appreciate more. Being in Paris has not yet given me a huge life changing realization sent down from the gods but it has made some things clearer. I should make clear that these more minor realizations and important thoughts came while walking, walking in two parks, Parc de Buttes Chaumont and Parc Monceau. Two writers, Thoreau and Wordsworth that evoke the idea of self discovery by isolation, and the idea of outside meditation, and nature were originally preaching something I used to not understand and shrug off as hippy stuff, but on my walks that changed.

Junior year of high school was my introduction to Thoreau. Some might consider that too late but I think otherwise. I think the core of his message, a message of finding something positive in loneliness is too deep or maybe to real to understand until you yourself can empathize with it. The message is not sad loneliness, but yet rooming oneself purposely from the very opposite, that being city life, full of people, full of social construct, full of social guidelines and expectations. In that he finds that there is something there in isolation, as if a forest where little happens has more than a city where everything happens. I did not understand this in high school, and even though I was only a few years younger than I am now, I understand it better now. To do what Thoreau did, a person must be willing to address how they feel about their setting, how that setting effects their life, and have no problem with realizing the negatives. Sure I agree with people who say “keep positive” but there is a point where if you don't find a sustained positivity in a place, a setting, than you have to accept that you need a change. Basically what Thoreau has done for me is underlined that when you feel you can no longer try adapting to a place, or a lifestyle, than look outside of that box. Junior year of high school half the year in an English studies class we learned the transcendentalist movement, eventually creating a project that would show and implement our understanding of different writers like Thoreau. So I am in tune with Thoreau's reason for leaving society, something I could and still can connect too. The emphasis in his works put on the fact the world (city life) he came from  was never going to allow him to find himself, so walking and escaping that world to a quiet and open woods setting could make him realize something about himself or something greater than him just based on a setting, which I love.

 Wordworth writes about the function of walking and how, similar to Thoreau, is a means for escaping the filled and crowded life we know too well.

"The earth is all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!"

-Wordsworth,The Prelude

People like Thoreau, Emerson and Wordsworth, preaching a transcendentalist type    point overall are not shy to admit the refuge they find so much in isolation and complete lack of socializing. They are obviously happy with being away from people and social construct, but why? Is it a matter of fear or intimidation of being separated from something, not being  part of something so much that you remove yourself t avoid being alienated socially? 

All these type of self-finding authors like Wordsworth and Emerson who most famously said "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." It is the whole idea that you are better off finding what has not been found than something that has been discovered. For Wordsworth, the escape is mysterious, and finding this mystery is what he is set on. This is something I feel for in that, doing something you don’t know in life travel wise could end up a to better than going with the familiar choice, hence the reason I am in Paris for the first time, Europe for the first to add. This is getting to be something that has only been told by books though. The world now as we see it is known, going out and finding yourself like Thoreau is harder, there is more to escape and what there is to escape from is a world we depend so much on, a world of familiarity, technology and socializing. The nature filled land Thoreau loves so much is not upon our gaze as we walk by a park. That is a copy or natural nature, making it hard to appreciate it as much as a solid walk in the woods. When you think about it, its fucked up how society knows that tearing the natural world down and creating this flat industrial, skyscraper filled place is wrong, yet they will create this thing called a "park" to make up for it. Many people will fall for it and appreciate the park, which nothing is wrong with that, but in reality they are mocking earth, the earth that Wordsworth, Covereley, and Thoreau knew and used to benefit themselves, naturally. Now to do what they did people take short cuts, entrench themselves in media or zoo's, gardens and therapy, but there is also nothing wrong with using alternatives or falling for these things, because if you still get something great of them, out of yourself, why care. 

The walks to those two parks did evoke some connection to this appreciation of nature through it evoking feelings and peace. At Parc Monceau I was not able to disconnect very well on this walk, not nearly as much as the last walk. The park did feel like the best place to lose myself and tap into a deeper level of thought. I understood the size was quite smaller than the last park but it still lacks. It was too man made looking and anywhere you went you could still see the city around you. With Parc de Buttes Chaumont, I did not even think it was fake till I started a second walk around looking more intimately. I needed this, head not being where I wanted it lately, and this really helped. By far was the best walk I have taken for years, regardless of whether that be because I needed it or not. I went in the morning and it was beautiful. It was not packed, although there were runners they usually never took the small paths that interested me, but the larger ones near the water. It was quiet, although getting a little louder in different places of the park still relatively quiet for being in the city. It didn't take long before the park started making me recall certain things through its nature. This went for Parc Monceau too. By the end of both these walks so many pieces of nature or statues made me remember certain places back home. At Parc Monceau I see a few trees that are identical to ones along my driveway. They take me back. I am reminded of the time it snowed a foot or more and I decided to push snow off the top of one of my dads cars, the one I believe he loved the most. I ended up scratching a lot of the top, which was found out about a month later when all the snow melted. My dad got angry and asked if I had dragged something on top his car, to which I replied no way! I preceded to blame it on the small tree that branches had been resting on the car due to the wait of the snow. I see a bush/plant thing that I saw at the Parc de Buttes Chaumont as well. I hate this thing usually but not seeing it here. I have wanted it gone for years, 19 years, but now if it takes me back home this much, I feel maybe I should accept and respect it. Even though I usually shit on this big bush/plant  thing in my backyard,the bush that has eaten every ball from baseball to lacrosse to tennis ball in the world, I miss it. I also saw a statue thing that I believe has some spiritual context but that is also in my backyard, at least a very similar version. I never really look at mine back home but I stare at this thing for I would say 5 minutes, I don’t know.why, but I do. I remember lighting a candle and putting it inside the statues little open door but more remember hiding stuff in it because a tree and bush kind of hid it well. At Parc de Buttes Chaumont, minutes into my walk I was brought somewhere. The smell of plants, the fresh air just rained upon went into my nose but then into my brain. It was the smell of spring wanting to break through. Immediately I was brought to my farm in Virginia and a park near my house called Rock Creek Park. I smile, even though the french don't like it, screw them and there rules for now. I feel like I'm walking through the woods in Virginia on a brisk day, it is a great feeling. Now right now you could stop me and say well these writers weren't finding peace though recollecting about nature that reminds them of another place, but I disagree because if that place is somewhere they are fond of, and their personal goal is to better appreciate what they have, I find that their is no better way to achieve piece personally. I also believe finding peace is subjective is the way one goes out and does it, just look at all the different interpretations writers have spilled out for the last 150 years. The nature has its own way of assisting people, and me it seems that it is less of a present appreciation, but look back at somewhere in the past. Continuing, all the different birds floating around and chilling out on bushy areas around and in the pond brings me to another place. I am now transported to summer at my house in Marthas Vineyard and our pond, a pond that also has many different ducks and birds, swans (if thats not a duck) coexisting. It is reminding me of sitting and watching the pond for hours at times, the image of the moon hitting it, its like I'm there. I also start to notice the trees and how they are feeding into this as well, feeding into my memory pod. Many people talk about smells bringing them to places in their memory, upon my walk the trees and plants really helped bring me other places through this. I do not know trees or plants names but there were few that brought me back to my driveway in VA, a place I usually do not think too much about. Both days I went to these parks a little rain happened during my walk, but for the first time I did not care because I was not aimlessly walking and getting nothing out of it. Although one park was less beautiful it still was nice to sit-down and not look at streets. These places heeled clear my head, that is the first most important thing. My head is not easy to clear, but they did it, I let go and let what was in front of me be there, nothing more.

 It is more important that I highlight the significance of all these different things like birds,plants, smells, and objects bringing me back, regardless. Maybe the authentic spirituality of nature lacks from an artificial park like this, but that does not mean I can't be better than that and find a way to pull out some kind of realization from it. And I did with using all of the aforementioned to take me different places. Honestly I now miss home, but I think thats a good thing, coming here and having that happen is a good thing. I am realizing what I should appreciate more, and that was the point of this, maybe I am not doing this on a huge scale but it is still important to me. I have not missed home, missed all I have back in the US (just talking about physical places, not people) for years, maybe since 2001 or 2002 I would say, and coming here missing it is a good thing because It is making me better appreciate what I have, what I would usually dust off, and take for granted. I plan on going home now and instead of going from the airport back to DC, the airport to my farm in VA because I appreciate it now, I miss it. 

Park Walk #2

Junior year of high school was my introduction to Thoreau. Some might consider that too late but I think otherwise. I think the core of his message, a message of finding something positive in loneliness is too deep or maybe to real to understand until you yourself can empathize with it. The message is not sad loneliness, but yet rooming oneself purposely from the very opposite, that being city life, full of people, full of social construct, full of social guidelines and expectations. In that he finds that there is something there in isolation, as if a forest where little happens has more than a city where everything happens. I did not understand this in high school, and even though I was only a few years younger than I am now, I understand it better now. To do what Thoreau did, a person must be willing to address how they feel about their setting, how that setting effects their life, and have no problem with realizing the negatives. Sure I agree with people who say “keep positive” but there is a point where if you don't find a sustained positivity in a place, a setting, than you have to accept that you need a change. Basically what Thoreau has done for me is underlined that when you feel you can no longer try adapting to a place, or a lifestyle, than look outside of that box. I do not know who said this but a wise friend once told me the journey is the destination because life is a journey and should never have an endpoint. I think this fits quite well with Thoreau because there was nothing wrong with him leaving his life, even if it meant he left society, it was part of his journey, his change, he was finally going on his journey. Some people never try to embark on their journey or even can, but for those who can, the idea that they will find a finish line and be done is ridiculous to me. This also does not make it alright for others to judge people journeys because like another wise friend once told me, which he was taught from his grandmother “never judge a life before you've lived one.” To that I say AMEN! 

The Walk:

I was not able to disconnect very well on this walk, not nearly as much as the last walk. The park did feel like the best place to lose myself and tap into a deeper level of thought. In fact the statues did the opposite for me, they prevented me from feeling any nature around me. Thats not to say they were not nice statues, some not so nice in my opinion, but the park had too much of an emphasis on them to divide nature from depictions of people, nature, and irrelevant statues like the one of the man playing piano, I don’t know who it was. I walked to every part of the park to try and see, to intake everything before I could walk away disappointed. My problem was that it seemed to intentional, thats it. I understand the size is quite smaller than the last park but it is still lacking. 

At the last park I remember being taken back to different places back home through nature and this park did the same for me. Whether Thoreau would see that as me successfully tranceding, I doubt it, but there are no open forests near here, so I’m working with what I have. I saw a bush/tree that is in my backyard at home that I had seen last week, and even though I usually hate it with a passion, I can’t help but stop and look at it, appreciate it, something I would never ever do back home. I have wanted it gone for years, 19 years, but now if it takes me back home this much, maybe I should accept and respect it. I see a few trees that are identical to ones along my driveway. They take me back. I am reminded of the time it snowed a foot or more and I decided to push snow off the top of one of my dads cars, the one I believe he loved the most. I ended up scratching a lot of the top, which was found out about a month later when all the snow melted. My dad got angry and asked if I had dragged something on top his car, to which I replied no way! I preceded to blame it on the small tree that branches had been resting on the car due to the wait of the snow. Good memory. 

             

                                                                       The Tree^^^

Continuing my walk, I saw a statue thing that I believe has some spiritual context but that is also in my backyard, at least a very similar version. I never really look at mine back home but I stare at this thing for I would say 5 minutes, I don’t know why, but I do. I remember lighting a candle and putting it inside the statues little open door but more remember hiding stuff in it because a tree and bush kind of hid it well. For me, not to sound dumb, when I am going on a walk with the intention to meditate, the presence of historical figures what ever medium that be through is not important o say the least. 

As I walked out I had a moment with a few crows. I love crows, I really do have a thing for them. I feel like spiderman when he is around a spider or batman around bats. I specifically got a tattoo of a crow feather for their meaning and also just because I like them. Sounds very goth kid, but it’s true. 

Parc de Buttes Chaumont Walk

"The earth is all before me. With a heart

Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,

I look about; and should the chosen guide

Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,


I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!"

-Wordsworth,The Prelude

Wordworth writes about the function of walking and how, similar to Thoreau, is a means for escaping the filled and crowded life we know too well. 

                    "Ah! better far than this, to stray about 250

          Voluptuously through fields and rural walks,
          And ask no record of the hours, resigned
          To vacant musing, unreproved neglect
          Of all things, and deliberate holiday."

He focusses on the walker as a person, who he is and why they see the freedom they do. Wordsworth makes it apparent that the escape is not as simple as trying to adopt a new take on things, or getting tired with the status quo, although important, he is finding refuge in isolation, avoiding all social contact. 

People like Thoreau, Emerson and Wordsworth, preaching a transcendentalist type    point overall are not shy to admit the refuge they find so much in isolation and complete lack of socializing. They are obviously happy with being away from people and social construct, but why? Is it a matter of fear or intimidation of being separated from something, not being  part of something so much that you remove yourself t avoid being alienated socially? 

All these type of self-finding authors like Wordsworth and Emerson who most famously said "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." It the whole idea that you are better off finding what has not been found than something that has been discovered. For Wordsworth, the escape is mysterious, and finding this mystery is what he is set on.

This mystery that these writers are talking about is usually finding that they are interested in the simple life, bare bones, the essentials, and that detaching themselves from the busy world, a world with rules may not be out of fear of alienation but simply preference, a preference only walking and exploring could give them. Coverley mostly writes about the joy of simplicity in that he's on this journey discovering himself, discovering the need and appreciation for a simple life, and how of that comes the discovery of spirituality or maybe not discovery but newfound acceptance. You as well as Covereley can see the difference between Wordsworth and Thoreau and the transcendentalist writers writings and his own, his answering more, going deep into his spiritual psychology. But they all share there look at the simple essentials based life.

Junior year of high school half the year in an English studies class we learned the trandentlaist movement, eventually creating a project that would show and implement our understanding of different writers like Thoreau. So I am in tune with Thoreau's reason for leaving society, something I could and still can connect too. The emphasis in his works put on the fact the world (city life) he came from  was never going to allow him to find himself, so walking and escaping that world to a quiet and open woods setting could make him realize something about himself or something greater than him just based on a setting, which I love.

The world now as we see it is known, going out and finding yourself like Thoreau is harder, there is more to escape and what there is to escape from is a world we depend so much on, a world of familiarity, technology and socializing. The nature filled land Thoreau loves so much is not upon our gaze as we walk by a park. That is a copy or natural nature, making it hard to appreciate it as much as a solid walk in the woods. When you think about it, its fucked up how society knows that tearing the natural world down and creating this flat industrial, skyscraper filled place is wrong, yet they will create this thing called a "park" to make up for it. Many people will fall for it and appreciate the park, which nothing is wrong with that, but in reality they are mocking earth, the earth that Wordsworth, Covereley, and Thoreau knew and used to benefit themselves, naturally. Now to do what they did people take short cuts, entrench themselves in media or zoo's, gardens and therapy, but there is also nothing wrong with using alternatives or falling for these things, because if you still get something great of them, out of yourself, why care. 

THE WALK:

With the aforementioned in mind, that is not to say I am one to sometimes fall for it, especially the Parc de Buttes Chaumont, I did not even think it was fake till I started a second walk around looking more intimately. I needed this, head not being where I wanted it lately, and this really helped. By far was the best walk I have taken so far, regardless of whether that be because I needed it or not. I went in the morning and it was beautiful. It was not packed, although there were runners they usually never took the small paths that interested me, but the larger ones near the water. It was quiet, although getting a little louder in different places of the park still relatively quiet for being in the city. 

Minutes into my walk I was brought somewhere. The smell of plants, the fresh air just rained upon went into my nose but then into my brain. It was the smell of spring wanting to break through. Immediately I was brought to my farm in Virginia and a park near my house called Rock Creek Park. I smile, even though the french don't like it, screw them and there rules for now. I feel like I'm walking through the woods in Virginia on a brisk day, it is a great feeling. I continue to walk around with no route, just the goal of hitting each part of the park. This smell follows me. 

I make my way down to the pond. I see all the different birds and ducks, and start to count them. Suddenly I think about taking up bird watching, but then realize no. 

All the different birds floating around and chilling out on bushy areas around and in the pond brings me to another place. I am now transported to summer at my house in Marthas Vineyard and our pond, a pond that also has many different ducks and birds, swans (if thats not a duck) coexisting. It is reminding me of sitting and watching the pond for hours at times, the image of the moon hitting it, its like I'm there. This walk is now becoming one filled of memories, in the best way though. 

I walk on for another hour, clearing my head, realizing things that need to be realized, only because of the setting. I was not able to do this on other walks, but this one I was. I love walking but never knew that what I needed more often was nature walks, even though this is not a great representation of such. 

I see many dogs, all of which I want. I continue to see many birds. I see people on a hill doing tai chi, I see a man working out with his dog watching. I even see a cat on a leash. I stumble upon a more woodsy looking area which I love, again I am brought back to Virginia. I miss it now more than ever. 

I also start to notice the trees and how they are feeding into this as well. Many people talk about smells bringing them to places in their memory, upon my walk the trees and plants really helped bring me other places. I do not know trees or plants names but there were few that brought me back to my driveway in VA and backyard at my house. Even though I usually hate this big bush/plant  thing in my backyard thathas eaten every ball from baseball to lacrosse to tennis ball in the world, I miss it all the sudden. 

The rain that went on and off never bothered me, even though it usually would, for once it was very pleasant, and when it stopped each time, sun would perk out for a little. I didn't care that it was fake, it is still beautiful and that goes for many parks, central park especially. This walk cleared my mind, may not to the degree of Thoreau, but it did it a good service. The downside is I miss certain things back home more now, things I don't usually appreciate, yet the upside is that, the fact that I appreciate them. I need to find more parks like this or better. Maybe the authentic spirituality of nature lacks from an artificial park like this, but that does not mean I can't be better than that and find a way to pull out some kind of realization from it. As a human, the least we can do is appreciate what nature is here. Like Matthew Mcconaughey said "gratitude reciprocates" 

Marais Walk

I was surprised when I came to Paris and saw the amount of graffiti that lined the walls. I was even more surprised that on this walk we were told that there was an area where you can go to see it in abundance. I mean this is such an old respected city architecturally, why would you paint on it, the walls are too old for that. But to my surprise I found some of it cool. I need to say I am not usually someone who likes graffiti because to me it looks all the same unless we are talking about standouts like Invader, Banksy, and Mr Brainwash. I kept my mind open to it all though before going.

So I embarked on my travels with a list in hand of the very few directions to complete the walk.I got out of the St Sebastian metro crossed the street and started my walk. At first I noticed little graffiti, and what I did see was very typical big in your face fonts. Then it didn't take long to start letting my eyes look around and notice more. I saw a minotaur that used a real bull head integrated into the city and a painted body below. It was cool, really was, I do not know what street that was on though. How realistic it looked and something about it was attractive but since I just finished watching True Detective, it was a little creepy. The amount of Invader street art I saw was very surprising. I only had seen stuff on him in documentaries and pictures online. I thought to myself while looking around “Is this guy from France or something?” because there is more Invader on one block then there is Banksy in NYC. Luckily my phone was out of power by then and I could not take a picture nor look him up to answer this question that was kind of obvious. As I continued my journey I just looked and walked, no opportunity to savor the art with my camera, it was almost like I was, without technology!? But never, I’m 19 and its 2015, I had my computer in my backpack and a charger, but was not about to take it out and use it as a camera. I might be dependent on technology, but I am not desperate. As I turned onto Rue du Pont aux Choux, which I continued on until finishing, I saw the graffiti creeping around from higher places and I noticed the area was very nice with very nice clothing shops, and very nice restaurants. Why would graffiti be in a nice area of Paris? Well I quickly accepted that it is a younger place now, most the people shopping there are younger and most the people eating are as well, so there aren't as many old people shitting on the younger generations ways anymore. On the other hand it can be seen like soho, very nice everything, but there is still graffiti, adding character to something old and been there for some time. Yet when I think about it again, the graffiti that covered the walls on Rue du Pont aux Choux was not graffiti, well not all of it. It was art. The art you would see in struggling parts of the US does not look like Invaders work or the others creative stencil work. This art that was once frowned upon now has different socioeconomic styles it seems. Moving on, I further walked down Rue du Pont aux Choux for a while, window shopping, look shopping, and shopping shopping. This enforced my view of how younger people are taking over this area because this clothing would not look good on your dad, you would beg him to stop trying to look hip and 30 years younger (my uncle). 

There are all types of graffiti you see in the Marais, and I found my self liking the more realistic ones and not the ones that took up a whole wall, too disorganized for me. I saw some pieces that used black and white really well with the creamy color of the walls as there backdrop, so much so I wanted to take a picture and make a shirt of some of it.

I came closer to the river and it became dark out, taking away from seeing the art at its most vibrant. I began to shop a little more and started walking into any store that looked cool, even women's stores, and through this found a cool jewelry store selling mens and women's stuff. Don't judge the store by who shops there is the lesson there. At this point I was very close to the river and had called it a day. I found the nearest metro and went on home. On the metro I reflected a little. Over that whole walk I saw so many “Je suis Charlie” pieces probably done weeks ago and will be there for a long time. As I can understand seeing the remnants of an old Invader piece, a piece of art that doesn’t have nearly as much meaning as a phrase like “Je sues Charlie” I would never quite accept nor understand if the city were to take down the “Je suis Charlie” graffiti works because everyone there relates with them, even foreigners, they have purpose to never forget, and its a statement not just a phrase. I hope they don’t cover those up for a very long time, a very long time.