Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, Drink the wild air’s salubrity — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Merlin’s Song
Having spent some time in a big city over the weekend, I admit to a renewed appreciation for the wild air of my quiet town. I love being in the city while I’m in it, but love leaving it all the more. Give me the relative quiet solitude of a less urban lifestyle.
The world needs more wild, secluded places. Urban sprawl is slowly choking us into madness. Get outside, where we can breath, feel the sun on our skin, and bathe in the beauty of nature. That’s my kind of wild.
“Those who stand for nothing fall for everything.” — Alexander Hamilton
An interesting, if slightly morbid twist on travel is to visit the graves of famous people who died young, and combine it with a visit to the place where they met their demise. Some places, like Normandy, with the D-Day beaches and cemeteries, are obvious opportunities to combine the two. Other opportunities sneak up on you through serendipity.
A visit to Metro New York afforded such an opportunity. Walking past Trinity Church on the way to Ground Zero and the 9/11 Memorial, we realized the opportunity to pay our respects to Alexander Hamilton at his gravesite in the graveyard adjacent to the church. As with most graveyards, we walk in history along ground that has largely remained the same since the interred last saw daylight. In Lower Manhattan, with modern skyscrapers all around you, the opportunity to walk amongst 400 years of untouched history is sobering.
The next day, we took the ferry from Manhattan over to Weehawken, New Jersey to the place where Aaron Burr shot him in the most famous duel in American history. To see the rock where Hamilton bled out on encaged at the top reminded me a bit of Plymouth Rock. Who knows if it’s really the rock or not? But it offered an opportunity to see roughly where he died, which was about 20 feet above the Hudson River.
It turned out all that climbing wasn’t necessary to actually see the Weehawken Dueling Grounds, but those grounds are either train tracks or otherwise paved over at this point. No matter, the views from the Hamilton Memorial were absolutely worth the climb up the stairs to the top of the cliff. It turned out to be a fine way to say farewell to New York and its famous resident too.
Alexander Hamilton’s memorial Eliza HamiltonThat rockThe million dollar view from Weehawken
“Our dreams betray us” — Anton Myrer, Once An Eagle
What do our dreams actually say of us, but who we desire to be? For all my talk of productivity and purpose, I dream of boats and faraway places. Polar opposites, I can here the maternal characters in my life say. So which is me, and what is simply talk?
We dream of being writers or pro athletes or travel lifestyle YouTube influencers. We dream of washboard abs and marathon finishes. None of that is who we are, it’s nothing but what we wish for until we pay the price of greatness; the daily, consistent, habitual work that lifts us up from our dreams and carries us to our destiny. Do or do not, there is no try, as Yoda put it.
Dreams betray our aspirations and desires. They hint at a possible future, but simply hoping to hit the lottery leads to a life of dashed dreams and lingering regrets. Making the intangible tangible begins with doing the hard things that a dreamlike life demands. So wake up and get on with it.
“I am only one, I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.” — Edward Everett Hale
Absorbing the latest foolishness in the world, I wonder whether I ought to care more. The thing is, I care a great deal about everything, but I can’t control hardly any of it, so I focus on something instead. That, I believe, is the trick to getting through life with the soul intact. The nicks and bruises of everything may sting and surely are unpleasant for the logical mind, but remember that everything cannot get past a hardened mind. Alternatively, we may let something in to nurture and grow.
Decide what to be and go be it. Just who do we wish to become in future versions of the self? We’re flying along towards the future anyway. What something today will make the biggest difference in who we will be then? If we stop focusing on everything, something more essential becomes easy to focus on.
Do you still remember: falling stars, how they leapt slantwise through the sky like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles of our wishes—did we have so many?— for stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere; almost every gaze upward became wedded to the swift hazard of their play, and our heart felt like a single thing beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance— and was whole, as if it would survive them! — Rainer Maria Rilke
August is ending, and so are longer days. I don’t mind the darkness so much, for it opens up other opportunities. Have a look up and see all that we miss scurrying about in the daylight. Just this morning the brilliant kaleidoscope of sunrise greeted the pup and me as we ventured beyond the threshold. She had her nose to the ground, while my own was pointed at the skies. We survey all but the middle, the pup and I.
The Perseids came and went this year, with the inevitable ill-timed overcast skies blocking the show at peak where I live. Still, I saw a few shooting stars this month—enough to keep me looking for more. A meteor is a shock to the senses as it streaks across the sky. Where a moment before there was vast sameness, for an instant there’s a thrilling something burst upon the scene, before it disappears as quickly as it came.
We aren’t so different from shooting stars, are we? We think we will live forever until we realize we won’t. That realization in itself is a jolt to the vast sameness of living. Memento mori. Make this streak through the dark a little brighter, buckaroo! We ourselves are a thrilling something, if we seize the day. Hurry now: the ride goes quickly.
Just my old guitar and me Out to find my destiny Nashville is the place to be For big dreams and faded jeans — Dolly Parton, Big Dreams and Faded Jeans
Like the rest of the world, I found it easy to like Dolly Parton. She had a gift for lifting people up. Like many, I wonder why people like that pass from this world too soon while the worst characters in history live well past their welcome. Even wondering such a thing makes me a less beautiful spirit than Dolly Parton. Call me a work in progress then. May there be time to reach that kind of potential.
I wasn’t much of a country music fan growing up, but Dolly Parton was still a large part of my life’s soundtrack. Her songs were seemingly everywhere, and so was she. By all appearances, she got everything out of her 80 years. A candle in the wind that somehow survived the stormiest of times. Someone like that, you just assume that they’ll always be there, doing their bit to light up the world. When they pass, you realize the fragility.
Still, there’s an afterglow. Like Glen Hanson a few weeks back, there’s a catalog of music, movies and videos to look back on in wonder. The lesson for each of us mortals is to contribute something meaningful to others, that they may carry us with them when we are no longer around. Our time grows shorter, and yet there’s still time enough to make a difference in someone’s life. Those memories, like faded jeans, offer comfort when we return to them again and again.
Here is an amazement—once I was twenty years old and in every motion of my body there was a delicious ease, and in every motion of the green earth there was a hint of paradise, and now I am sixty years old, and it is the same. — Mary Oliver, Am I Not Among the Early Risers
Back-to-back posts quoting Mary Oliver? There’s no arguing that she is a frequent guest in my writing and in my mind. In fact, I quote her so often that I make it a point to avoid quoting her. The blog isn’t a fan page for a specific poet, it’s a series of observations put into words one day to the next.
Earlier this summer I simply stopped writing. I’d had a writing streak of a couple of thousand posts and ended it deliberately. Even as I began writing again the inclination to publish every day became less essential. When I have something to say I’ll say it. I don’t expect the world will grind to a halt. The only thing we are assured of is an ending one day. Memento mori.
Once I was twenty. Where does the time go? The trick is a healthy body and sharp mind, kicking bad health down the curb as long as possible. But more, it’s walking through life with a healthy sense of curiosity and wonder. Life is fluid, and we ought to be too. Rigidity will be the death of us. Endings are simply beginnings for something else. Stay open, keep moving, and be curious.
“Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” — Mary Oliver, Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches
How many times have I used this quote? Not as much as “Decide what to be and go be it” but surely with some frequency. It’s one of Mary Oliver’s greatest hits, if one were to rank lines of poetry by the number of times quoted. But we don’t rank poetry lines in this blog; our mission here is learning to listen.
Naturally, the quote doesn’t demand that we listen, but that we act when we’ve heard the call. Go forth and live bigger, for the hour grows late! What do we call a life of postponement? No life at all. We must live bigger! Be bold today. Tomorrow is far too late.
I was sitting outside with a good book, minding my own business, when in the blink of an eye a yellow jacket flew into my face just below my lower lip, panicked and stung me. I only knew it was a yellow jacket when I saw it fall to the deck after brushing it off. I’d done nothing to provoke it, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. All I could do was put an ice cube on my face to mitigate the swelling, take an antihistamine and get back to the book. Sure, it would have been better if it had never happened, but it also could have been worse.
Amor fati (love of fate) is easy to say, harder to practice. We are constantly offered opportunities to accept the world on its terms. Do we? Another opportunity will surely bump into us sooner or later.
What is precious inside us does not care to be known by the mind in ways that diminish its presence. — David Whyte, The Winter of Listening
I ought to write more, I tell myself. But what is this blog, written most every day, but writing? ‘tis not the same, I think. It is through the writing process that deeper discoveries are made.
What I really mean is that I ought to carve out more time in my days for discovery. Writing does the trick, but so does a long walk amongst the whispering trees, so does listening to the right music, or seeing art that awes. We find something of ourselves when we venture beyond the self.
We are constantly and forever finding out something about ourselves. Forever changing, evolving, becoming who we are to be. It’s the journey of our lifetime, revealed one day to the next. We ought to revel in the daily discovery, but we’re often too busy living to appreciate the incremental strides forward.
