The open space of democracy is a fascinating concept. It摒弃了等级制度,而专注于网络和系统,在其中权力是循环的,而非线性的。这种权力不是为少数有资格的人保留的,而是由许多人共享和维护的。公共土地是我们的公共资源,它们属于每一个人。
What I know is this: When one hungers for light, it is only because one's knowledge of the dark is so deep. This profound statement makes us realize that our longing for something often stems from our awareness of its opposite. It is through our experiences in the darkness that we come to appreciate the value of light.
What mattered most to me was not what I was willing to give my life for, but what I was willing to give my life to. This distinction is crucial. Giving one's life for something implies a sacrifice, while giving one's life to something suggests a dedication and a purpose. It is about finding that one thing that truly matters and devoting ourselves to it wholeheartedly.
The power of nature is the power of a life in association. Nothing stands alone. This reminds us of the interconnectedness of all things in the natural world. Every living being depends on others for survival and growth. We are all part of a complex web of life, and we must respect and protect this delicate balance.
A truly stunning book was penned by TTW during the Bush administration, specifically after 9/11. However, this remarkable work appears to be just as relevant in the present Trump era. I have an intense love for this book, and it has reaffirmed for me, as if I even required such confirmation, what an extraordinary writer and profound thinker she truly is. The book delves into various aspects that were significant during the Bush years and yet still hold great importance and resonance today. It offers valuable insights and perspectives that can help us better understand the complex world we live in. TTW's writing style is engaging and captivating, drawing the reader in and making them eager to explore every page. Her thoughts and ideas are presented in a clear and concise manner, allowing for easy comprehension. This book is not only a great read but also a thought-provoking piece that can have a lasting impact on the reader.
Odds are, I should love nearly everything Terry Tempest Williams writes. Her words are precise and unexpected, like precious gems that sparkle in the light. Her descriptions of landscapes are magically alive, painting vivid pictures in the reader's mind. I admire her unwavering commitment to the wilderness and the natural world, and I share many of her political and social values. And yet, I find her books almost impossible to read. Paragraphs unwind, sentence by gorgeous sentence:
"Scale cannot be registered here [in the Arctic] in human terms. It is geologic, tectonic, and planetary. Stegosauraslike ridge-lines form the boundaries of our passage. Ribbonlike waterfalls cascade for miles down cliffs. What I thought was a swallow became an eagle. Weather changes minute by minute. Gray tumultuous clouds weave themselves into patterns of herringbone, yet a strange softness abides, even in the razor-cut terror of this rugged terrain."[44]
But then there are such passages as this:
"The power of nature is the power of life in association. Nothing stands alone. On my haunches, I see a sunburst lichen attached to limestone; algae and fungi are working together to break down rock into soil. I cannot help but recognize a radical form of democracy at play. Each organism is rooted in its own biological niche, drawing its power from its relationship to other organisms. An equality of being contributes to an ecological state of health and succession." [58]
Wait, that's ridiculous. Why radical democracy? Why not anarcho-capitalism, or ecological realpolitik? What on earth is 'an equality of being' - how would you measure this? I suspect that the aspect of Williams' writing that drives me crazy is why so many people find it compelling: she maps progressive values directly onto striking, concrete images of nature, not as analogies, but as manifestations of truth. This approach has a long and respectable tradition in American letters that stretches back to the Transcendentalists; few have done it so skillfully. But if you're a natural skeptic, and want language to help refine your thoughts and intuitions, this style is incredibly distracting.
This book itself is a collection of three essays. The first recounts a politically liberal graduation speech she gave at a conservative Utah university in 2003. The middle one is a deeply moving record of a canoe trip across the North Slope in Alaska (from which the passages quoted above are taken). And the last is an account of a community pulling together to fend off a resort subdivision in Castle Valley, Utah. While I'm glad her community won this last fight, I was struck by the ways privilege gave this community an advantage: well-connected residents, not all wealthy, but several with ties to deep pockets. Williams seems aware of this too; her point is broader: that in engaging to protect open spaces and ecological and social justice in our communities, we protect democracy and civilization. It's more than a bit mystical, but if you're already there, you may love this book.