Love Hate Relationship

Written while reading...


What special quality rests in these certain people who thrive when saddened?
There is something beautiful within it, a real charm in the strange blend found in joy and sadness, a melancholy unlike most. Transcending the dependancy of others is an interesting process. Realizing that there is more company around than you may perceive is even more amazing.
However, this is not the loneliness that Wendell Berry refers to. His desires are unfound, discovering relief and great disappointment in the absence of other campers and the sound of people in the distance. What is it Berry is missing in his unbounded contentment? I believe it is not the woods that haunt him, but something more sheltered and internal, perhaps clothed in heavy layers of emotional saran wrap.
He bares his claim that his lack of happiness loiters in the midst of the past, within departed history and tracks of the dead. However, the confession of having more on his plate slips easily, granting reason to believe in a very real confusion weighing on his heart.
Berry is lost. His self-loathing demeanor is freely characterized in his banter about the freeway. He suggests that when you drive on a freeway in Kentucky, you don't experience Kentucky, only the freeway. This is sometimes true, but what's wrong with a freeway? What's wrong with going 70 mph? Is the point of his visit to the forest not to pay heed to the forest? Is he awful for not considering skyscrapers in this aimless trek? Of course not, so why waste energy whipping ones own back for forgetting about the reality of Kentucky? I'm sure it doesn't mind, really.
I see that the point was not entirely to push guilt into his own mind over this mishap, but to have a more fluid transition from the hustlebustle to the calm and settled. Running to your bed for a nap generally doesn't wield immediate results.
...Is this essay making ME feel a bit lost? I'm beginning to misunderstand my own theories here, and what I'm even fully referring to is becoming blurry.
I hate saying this because, like confessing love, it seems to be thrown around more often than it should, especially where I live, but it sounds more than anything like poor Wendell is destressing. There is some sort of rubber-band ball in his chest, and the bands are slowly snapping off, one by one. These ruptures always contain a short pop of concern, sometimes lasting for quite a term, other times the results are as short as six pages.
This has been a very difficult essay to read.
It reads like a journal entry of a wealthy youth who ran away to escape the woes experienced by the "real world." This is especially dull after reading Thoreau's "Walking" which is so full of vitality and sturdiness, this in comparison is old, sugarless peanut brittle on a slab of cold marble.
He's so sure about his placement, and in that knowing there is doubt. How does one know that a certain action will bring a specific desire? By being in the forest Berry believes that this phase will end, and through speechlessness, reality will be obtained. I wish her luck and low hopes in this venture.
If I'm going to be completely honest in my critique, I have to admit that my feelings toward this particular essay are completely personal. Barry's writing reflects a passed facet of myself that I'm very glad to see gone, and reading this makes me wince, knowing that that little girl is so active in the minds of others. It's an unhealthy method of perception.
But then again, what do I know? Different things work for different people. I should be careful to criticize. I could be going through a phase right now. I probably am, actually.
Are we ever "ourselves"? As far as I know, most people just seem to be relaying various methods, testing the water until they die, or reach enlightenment, whichever comes first, I suppose.
Barry's dawn comes slow and cold, though it does not do this intentionally. He seems spiteful towards the world for reasons undisclosed. I wish he would just talk about what's making him so upset and get it over with.
I can't believe she just mentioned Hiroshima. Wow.
....
The slight shift in tone makes for a lovely ending to what I felt to be a very unpleasant essay. There are many movies I've seen that have the same effect, winding down to a point of solitude and comfort, which somehow makes all the things happening beforehand contain a sense of logic. He speaks of a day and night in the woods, and the second rising of the sun is much different than the first. His step carries less weight, and a purpose has been found in the entirety of her trip. The essay itself falls and rises, a direct expression of the experience. I like it.