瓦爾登湖的“朝圣”之旅

《瓦爾登湖》是美國作家梭羅的一本著名散文集。書中細致描述了梭羅兩年多來隱居瓦爾登湖畔，感知自然、重塑自我的奇異歷程。“Simplicity， simplicity， simplicity！”是書中的一個名句，在多年后依然閃著哲理的靈光，啟發著世界各地的讀者。每個時代的人或許都如出一轍地為金錢、為名利奔波勞碌、憂心忡忡。大家長嗟短嘆，困惑于人生的意義到底是什么，殊不知，在大自然中，快樂的真理隨處可見。有時候，我們需要的可能僅僅是一場心靈的“朝圣”，去發現歡樂，發現美，發現一個澄明、恬美、素雅的世界。

Six years ago I found myself in a bad place. I was trapped in a 1）grueling daily commute from our 2）smallholding in the Scottish borders to my soul-sapping office job in Edinburgh. Each day I left early in the morning while my family slept， and returned with barely enough time to say goodnight to our two little boys before putting them to bed. We loved our home but could not afford it， and so I resigned myself to the 3）half-life of the commuter. Eight hours a day were spent sitting at my desk， with three more in my car.

I was chasing money， in hopes of buying space and time and a chance of happiness. The reality， however， was debt， mind-numbing jobs and little time to truly invest in our family and our lives. Something had to be done to shuck us out of it all， and I began to turn the hours in the car to my advantage， using the time to develop a plan of escape； to leave my job and journey into the wilderness.

Making it happen wasn’t so easy， however， starting with telling my friends and family. Not surprisingly， their response was less than 4）enthusiastic. Some assumed that I had finally succumbed to the stress of commuting and was having some kind of mental breakdown； others were angry， thinking I was shirking my responsibility. My wife， however， understood from the start.

Juliet also felt trapped by our situation. No amount of money was worth it， we agreed， and we made a deal： I would somehow find a way to build my cabin in the wilderness where I would live for one year alone. Taking the family wasn’t an option， as the children were too young and the dangers too many. Juliet would realise her own dream， however， and return with the boys to the Isle of Mull， where she was born.

Over time our plan took shape， and I finally found myself in the interior of Alaska， 300 miles from the nearest road. For the first few months I lived in a canvas tent with just my dog for company and laboured ceaselessly to build my 16ft x 16ft cabin before winter set in. I finished just in time： the temperature sank to -50C and pretty soon I was struggling with 12ft of snow and half an hour’s daylight each day. Only after I had nearly starved to death did I eventually 5）get the hang of it. I lived off 6）beaver meat and travelled by dog team， finally achieving the way of life that I had dreamed of.

In the rare moments when I wasn’t engaged in the arduous business of staying alive in the wilderness， I read. Among the sacred collection of books in my cabin， I had the complete works of Shakespeare， the scripts of Woody Allen and， of course， my much-thumbed copy of Walden. It kept me going when times were tough， and I have often turned to it in the years since my return as a “spiritual 7）barometer”， to make sure I am not straying too far from my chosen path.

Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Walden Pond， the lake that gave Thoreau’s book its title， near the small town of Concord， Massachusetts. He wrote beautifully about Walden Pond， with detailed descriptions of its oak and pine surroundings and the quality of the water itself. Clearly the place had inspired him， and his book in turn had inspired many others， including me.

I had long felt that I’d like to make a pilgrimage to Walden Pond， as a kind of homage to the man whose ideas helped turn my life around. It was risky though， since the world has changed immeasurably since Thoreau lived there in the 1840s， and I was in danger of shattering the vision I’d long held in my mind. Nevertheless， a week ago， I arrived at Boston airport， bearing my copy of Walden.

Quickly climbing into my rental car， I hadn’t had time to buy a map and so rather sheepishly 8）consented to use the satellite navigation system. With a sinking heart， I typed “Walden Pond” onto the screen， imagining what Thoreau would have thought of such a device.

The weather was cold enough to justify my beaver hat， so I pulled it out and， with a sense of history， stuffed my sacred kettle into my bag， hoping to brew some tea at a suitable spot. And when I reached the lake I found it even more 9）ravishing than I had imagined. I remembered Thoreau’s metaphor of a lake as“Earth’s eye”， and its surrounding trees as the“eyelashes which fringe it”.

I walked slowly along the path towards a small inlet which my visitor’s map marked as the location of Thoreau’s cabin. Pretty soon I reached the sacred spot， and walked very slowly up to the cabin-site， which was marked in a fittingly 10）unadorned manner.

I heard a train hoot， and turned to see a 11）locomotive pulling a row of silvery carriages along the railway that skirted the south-west corner of the pond. Thoreau， too， had listened to the train as it passed， and I stood very still for a while， overcome by a sense of the past. Time has changed—on the surface， everything is speeding up， yet the essential slow forces are still there， like a deep， steady current beneath the surface of a choppy sea.

I wanted to see more， and made my way towards it， enjoying the sight of bone-dry oak leaves landing 12）daintily on the blue-green water. I noticed a fish jump into the air， and looked over to see rings widening across a stretch of shimmering water that began as a cloud slipped past the sun. I reached up and pulled some green needles from a pine tree and crushed them between my fingers， catching their clean scent on my skin. “Every little pine needle expanded and swelled with sympathy and befriended me，” Thoreau had written， and here I was， for all I knew beneath that very same tree. Again， I felt a sense of continuity， of lives crossing over， and I felt restored. True， the place was nothing like the personal image that I had held for so long. But the lake and the trees remain 13）unaltered， and there is still space to get a feel for what so inspired Thoreau.

As I drove back to Boston that night I thought of what Thoreau would have made of the modern world. In these unhappy times， with the world searching its pockets for every last scrap of currency， maybe it would pay to go back to basics， to make spiritual withdrawals from nature rather than the 14）cashpoint machine. Most of us don’t have a trust fund and so will never have enough money in the bank. Yet there is such wealth outdoors and it is everywhere； from an 15）allotment to the wide， open ocean， all can 16）replenish our spiritual banks. When the cold dreary numbers start to let us down， and all the smart-arse analysts start eating their words， it pays to remember that wherever there is a natural place there is a chance to find happiness， serenity and truth.

六年前，我發現自己身陷糟糕的境地。每天疲憊不堪地通勤往返，在我們位于蘇格蘭邊境的小農場與位于愛丁堡的磨人心志的辦公室工作之間奔波。每天，當家人還在睡夢之中，我就早早出門；歸家時，僅僅來得及在兩個年幼的兒子上床睡覺前跟他們道晚安。我們愛這個家，卻買不起這房子，因此，我只能屈從于通勤奔忙，活得不成個樣子。一天八小時，我坐在辦公桌旁，另外有三小時坐在自己的車上。

我一直追逐金錢，希望買來空間、時間和一個獲得快樂的機會。然而，現實是：債務、令人頭腦發麻的工作以及微量真正投資于家庭和人生的時間。我們必需做一些事情來脫離這種困境。我開始將花在車上的幾個小時化為優勢，利用這些時間構思一個出逃計劃；逃離我的工作，走進荒野，展開一段旅程。

不過，一開始跟家人和朋友說起時，計劃的實施并沒那么容易。不出所料，他們的反應并不熱烈。……