A danger comes with familiarity, explanation and repetition that exclude the mysterious. We have whittled away at mystery armed with rationality and belief. I fear we may be on the verge of success and risk tragic loss of a keystone to being alive and human. Reason, belief and mystery are all part of us. The destruction of any is a slow suicide. I may be called a tree hugger or some other vilifying, dismissive term, but I see a desire for destruction and personal profit behind such labels. There is a battle for language, understanding and power in this. The language for our experiences is difficult, perhaps because it is disused, faded and has been suppressed. The technology of communication and transportation has changed more in my own lifetime than in all the time we have been a species up until now. This has created tremendous opportunities for us. Its fertility has also encouraged a colossal crop of weeds. We are challenged to find expression and venues to make it mean something lasting and beneficial to all. Looking back in history, I find company in building language to express this. William Wordsworth’s “Tinturn Abbey” in 1798, Thomas Cole’s “Essay on American Scenery” in 1836, and Aldo Leopold’s “A Sand County Almanac” in 1949 all work at expressing these mysterious feelings coming to us from the land. There are others as well, but few role models are visible without an intentional search. Perhaps it is only the searchers and explorers who connect to this. A sad thought – or is this perhaps a more common experience that we seldom speak of due to some tabu or difficulty of language? The value of our relationships with the land is maintained in our culture when we speak of it and express the depth of its importance.