I flush with feeling, moved beyond my comprehension, and once again, the warm tears freeze upon my face. “The sun is roaring, it fills to bursting each crystal of snow. the cosmic radiation that is thought to come from the explosion of creation strikes the earth with equal intensity from all directions, which suggests either that the earth is at the center of the universe, as in our innocence we once supposed, or that the known universe has no center.” “Today most scientists would agree with the ancient Hindus that nothing exists or is destroyed, things merely change shape or form. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.” I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. The mountains have no 'meaning,' they are meaning the mountains are. “The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. Here's some selections from the book to begin, so you can see Peter Matthiessen's spirit, his Buddhist nature, and his love of language, without my intervention or commentary: I have taken months since reading this book to finally write this (long) review:
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