There is a moment, in 'Winner Takes Nothing,' where I feel I understood Emerson, and captured what he was saying, when I watched a young Shaman in Lappland touch her powers. Sure, the weaving was in her yoiking chant, and at her fingertips, but it was all around her too, in the magical northern lights and patterned leaves, and the wind that seemed to obey some unknown rules of nature - and if the wind is not in command, who is? The wind, of hurricanes, monsoons and tornadoes, more powerful, invisible yet felt, and yet, not as strong as the seasons, or the butterfly, for it is the butterfly that dances in the strongest storms.
Read those pages. The book is free, and long, and sad, and complex, and simple. My appreciation of nature, though, is not the appreciation of power, for one raindrop can harm the butterly wing after all, and I too am harmed by a wrong word.
But nature provides, settles, defines and is there, refreshed, renewed, to lift, and pacify.
bare yourself openly, wantonly
let the tones touch your hidden secrets
let your love pour - let it flow