The Haunted Grove

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In As You Like It , the Forest of Arden not only replaces the court, but also supplants its potentially benevolent authority. Yet, these literal, political, and psychological geographies only scratch the surface. Oberon proclaims his grove as haunted while simultaneously haunting it himself, his night-rule becoming a reciprocal wilderness of mutual participation.

It seems that there may be a little more to this than merely what we carry.

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Perhaps the boundaries between ourselves and our mythologies lie between our individual and our collective experiences. In the realms of mythical landscape, potential differences between what we carry and what might already be there, must become part of the definition, a hazy demarcation of the demarcation itself. For although black bears inhabited, and still may be found, in Massachusettes, the grizzly bears of Wyoming remain terrifyingly different. Landscapes may also differ by experience.

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So, they may be different for different people or characters, depending on what we might bring with us. Thoreau and so many others are right. We carry our own mythogy with us, configuring the interface so that any landscape we encounter becomes our own. Myth and landscape constantly participate fundamentally in our ongoing stories, which weave all of our experiential elements together into mythical tapestries that define the landscapes of our lives:.

Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.

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In the end, there is so much more to say and more to research about story, landscape, and myth, that it cannot be said here today. One door merely opens onto the next hallway. Instead, we must bow to the limitations of a blog post where there simply is neither space nor time to develop things as we might do.

Yet, someday, perhaps I shall write this book as well. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email.

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Notify me of new posts via email. Skip to content. There is no guarantee how long it will take to complete this review, whether days or years. Like this: Like Loading May 3, at pm. The scene became itself a dream or was mixed woven so undistinguishably into dreams that he would awaken suddenly from a dream just at first light of the day-break and see immediately again that solemn and illimitable space of grove-like trees. Why that memory should have been so solemn, strange, and haunting he could never tell. The place, he knew in later years, was only one of the innumerable pine-land barrens of the South and moreover of so flat and unrelieved a nature that most people would consider it monotonous and ugly.

Further, his own life had been hill-born and hill-haunted, and flat and barren places usually filled his heart with an emotion ofweariness and horror. Yet this great grove-like space ofpines had a quality—not offlatness—but ofa noble and illimitable levelness barred with pines, a space at once lonely, unmeasurable and open, yet 25 secret, solemn and profound as a cathedral, and when he looked at it it filled his heart with a noble solemn joy and filled his spirit like a swelling, solemn, dream-like music.

Through this great grove the train was rushing at terrific speed, and yet the very motion ofthe train seemed almost noiseless; the level grove stretched out on either side ofhim with such immediacy that he forgot even the powerful mechanism of the rails, and the train itself became a kind of monotonous engine which, like the ship of the Ancient Mariner, was rushing through these pathless woods without a rail.

And at just this moment, while he looked out of the windows of the berth he heard the negro porter coming down the aisle, putting out the lights. And even that memory was intolerably vivid and could even bring the whole scene to instant life.

He could hear the negro's quiet footsteps in the aisle, the rustling stir of the stiff green curtains ofthe berth as the man passed on, and then the sound ofhis lamp-stick opening the lamps, they were the lamps of older Pullman cars—acetylene and oil, perhaps—and their fat clumsy bellies opened downward on a hinge.

Now he could hear the sound of the lamp-stick opening the lamps, and then the click of the lamps made as they closed again.