The Tao of Maps
Walking from Georgia to Maine, I study maps to find my way. The maps add weight to my pack and some other hikers think I am foolish to carry them. They are correct, in a way. There are painted white blazes on trees to mark the path. Also, I admit foolishness. Yet, each of us carries what we choose to bear. A few laminated sheets of paper don’t break my back. A fool laughs while the wise sometimes strain their faces with seriousness. The foolish and the wise both relate to wisdom but neither embody it. Imitation or resemblance to wisdom— mistaken for wisdom— breeds catastrophic foolishness. The wise and wisdom, in this sense, keep a chiral relation. So I stay a fool and study my maps. When I look out in the woods I am blinded by trees. Over the ridge may be a remote creek, a town, or an even steeper ridge. I do not trust the maps. Maps are often mistaken, but I study both what the maps say and what the woods say. More mistaken than a map is memory. This morning I was thinking of Duncannon, Pennsylvania and the old Doyle Hotel on the main street. I was there months ago. I walked the streets along the Susquehana River. That river flooded the town recently. What I remember of Duncannon does not help me understand Duncannon now. My maps do not reflect such changes. The eyes are tricked by shadows. The mind and even maps do not remember the present. The future may only be conjectured.
So I remain a blind fool in the woods, though I have never been lost— cartographically anyway. When the wise get lost and ask my advice, I am amused. Here I must be careful. There is the temptation to believe I have reached wisdom, that unreachable realm, not marked on any map.
You create magical pieces, that take the reader on a wonderful journey. I felt transported, not just to the woods or a movie-scene of small town America, but to a traveler reading a map.
Thank you. Great write.