This book came as an unexpected blessing, a pertinent reminder that sometimes we need to empty ourselves to reconnect with the world, to see it for what it truly is.
We tend to associate the word empty and all its derivates with a long list of negative connotations, but Paul Gruchow’s meditations on the effect of emptying one’s mind is nothing short of electrifying. And regenerative.
Gruchow’s essays are like nothing I have read before. Natural history written in melodious prose, words carefully picked to create a lyrical effect, Gruchow is a thorough researcher with a poet’s heart. Respect for nature and transcendental ideas coexist in this book to the point of nourishing each other, engaging anyone who reveres life.
Following Gruchow’s musings while he trailed across Minnesota, Wyoming and Montana gave me much food for thought. Many of the things we have come to think of as logic or moral are the result of intellectual distortions after centuries of believing in the superiority of the human race over other forms of life that we consider trivial. Butterflies or lichens seem to be of no consequence in our civilized surroundings, but they might have a crucial role in the natural environment that defines a specific territory.
Gruchow’s is as generous as he is unforgiving about the near-sightedness of human beings. With gentle but undermining prose, he navigates the contradictions of an artificial existence completely detached from nature and ponders about its future.
Some of his conclusions sound premonitory and I can’t help but wonder what he would have thought about the current, unimaginable situation we got ourselves in, where a global pandemic and the more and more evident effects of global warming are severely affecting millions of lives around the globe.
An immense sense of communion, of belonging to something greater than us comes from emptiness. Getting rid of arrogant assumptions might enable us to recognize the wilderness in us, the kind of wilderness that Thoreau, one of Gruchow’s role models, equaled to goodness.
And it’s precisely in this wilderness where fear and silence have no need to be at odds with fulfillment, as fear keeps us alive, and silence allows us to go beyond words. Silence is the language of clouds and sky, and in darkness the night can whisper to us.
Everything that comes next is sheer magic; the kind of magic of discovering the right writer meeting the right place, like Solnit writing about Iceland or Wendell Berry creating a place like Port Williams; the kind of magic that brings you back home, no matter how, no matter what.