Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • Kingdoms Fall

      October and the trees are stripped bare
      Of all they wear
      What do I care?
      October and kingdoms rise
      And kingdoms fall
      But you go on
      And on
      — U2, October

      Inevitably, I encounter simmering rage when I listen long enough. That’s America now—rage in one form or another. It’s everywhere. Yes, common at the extremes on both sides, but creeping more and more into the middle. An even keel is hard to maintain in a tumultuous sea. We are in the midst of a storm brought on by profiteers and pirates. Bastards.

      If I sound distant from the rage myself, well, it’s a deliberate act to remove myself from the storm. Maybe there are no safe harbors in a storm like this, but we ought to find places of refuge to take stock of where we are, what we stand for, who we want to be and what we want to be remembered as one day when all of this is being cleaned up and analyzed by future generations. Those of us who reside in the middle keep this ship from capsizing. We choose whether the scales will be forever tipped.

      It’s October. Peak foliage days before it all falls away and all that we are left with are memories of what was and what might have been if we’d only paid more attention. Seasons come and go. All that will be left of us one day is what we choose to leave behind.

    • AI Chili

      I went through a drive-thru yesterday (you know you’re in America by the number of drive-thru’s you come across). I prefer not to frequent such places, but circumstances being what they were, I took advantage of it for what I hoped would be a quick bite between customer meetings. And my drive-thru host wasn’t human. It’s not my first rodeo with Artificial Intelligence (AI), or even audio AI (try getting a human on the phone at your bank or service provider nowadays), but surely the first time I’ve ordered a bowl of chili at a drive-thru with an audio AI host. Another small step for mankind, another great leap for humanity.

      We encounter the artificial every day now. We hardly think about it it’s so ubiquitous in our lives. Our politicians are artificial. Our music is increasingly artificial. This blog could be artificial if I wanted it to be. But I don’t want it to be, even if it will be scrubbed and duplicated by an artificial world even before I click publish. We must hold the line on genuine humanity in an increasingly artificial world. Isn’t it pretty to think so?

      The thing about AI that makes it so great is that it’s designed to make life easier for us. The thing about AI that makes it so awful is that it makes life easier for us. One challenge at a time, it’s robbing us of the challenges that make us grow. We don’t have to learn and remember things anymore. We don’t have to stumble through a language seeking to understand someone when a translation application can simply tell each of us what the other was saying.

      Technology is a tool that makes life easier for us, but we should still strive to do more difficult things, with technology as a tool to help us rise to a more enlightened place than we otherwise could reach. Maybe the person making minimum wage to staff that drive-thru could rise to some other role. That’s the promise of AI; that it takes away the menial while offering up exponential possibility for each of us.

      What’s it all about Alfie? Why are we here if not to be human? To learn and grow and be or not be that other thing? All of this technology is making the artificial increasingly more of our reality. Where will that stop? We’re living science fiction, but also wandering deep into a psychological thriller. A simple bowl of chili is surely only the beginning.

    • Still, Here

      Silence is the language of god,
      all else is poor translation.
      —Rumi

      It wasn’t all that long ago that it was exciting to see a satellite flying overhead. Now it feels like I can’t look up without seeing one. And it will get far busier up in the sky before too long. That’s just the way it is now, and whether we like it is beside the point. Modern progress chews up beautiful simplicity for breakfast.

      I say this knowing it’s autumn in New England. I’ll celebrate the season while dreading the coming of the leaf blowers. There will be no escaping the drone of these technological wonders as they descend on quiet cul-de-sacs en masse. Envie de t’évader?

      I’m not a purist. I use Waze and Google Maps frequently and listen to satellite radio far more than terrestrial radio. I too embrace the leaf blower like an old friend when the oak leaves blanket the lawn. I play music loudly. I delight in the energy of a crowded stadium. I am thus part of the problem, but I need stillness too. It’s simply harder to find in the familiar places.

      Maybe that’s why I’m getting up earlier than ever. On average I’m up an hour earlier than I used to get up. And I love the quiet time it offers. This blog wouldn’t exist without stillness and stubbornness. Imperfect as it is—as I am, it is my quiet offering to the universe that I’m still here, doing my thing, for at least this one more day. You want stillness? Listen to the applause after that statement.

      The world will keep getting louder and more complex. This requires a more deliberate layering of quiet from which we may hear ourselves think. I’m not convinced the world wants us thinking, but isn’t that a great reason to try? Let us quietly find our way to a more enlightened place.

    • The Schooner Ardelle on a Celtic Sunset Cruise

      These summer clouds she sets for sail,
      The sun is her masthead light,
      She tows the moon like a pinnace frail
      Where her phosphor wake churns bright.
      Now hid, now looming clear,
      On the face of the dangerous blue
      The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,
      But on, but on does the old earth steer
      As if her port she knew.
      — William Vaughn Moody, Gloucester Moors

      We know when we are in the midst of something extraordinary. Anticipation creeps up on us as the minutes pass by, awaiting our participation. Awareness floods in as the magic unfolds. Joy and gratitude edge in, provoking other emotions. There comes a time when we must simply put away the camera, stop searching for just the right word or phrase, and simply be a part of all that is happening around us.

      Gloucester, Massachusetts has a long history with the sea. Its famous harbor has long welcomed home fisherman and sailors from passages as far and wide as the ocean’s reach. One feels the history sailing in this harbor, and you play some small part in the play for having been here at all. The fleets of old are mostly all gone now, ghosts of what once was. But there are a few holdouts, and newcomers built in the traditional way, to offer some hint of what it was like long ago.

      Harold Burnham has built several schooners in the traditional fashion. For a couple of centuries the Burnham’s have built ships in Essex, Massachusetts. Two of his schooners are harbored in nearby Gloucester, and Harold himself captains sunset cruises. You simply have to put yourself in the way of beauty and sign up to participate. And if you’re especially fortunate, you may join on a night of Celtic music to offer a proper soundtrack for a September night when the clouds are just so to harness a bit of heavenly magic.

      Maritime Heritage Charters offers many opportunities to learn and experience a few hours on a schooner sailing in Gloucester Harbor. One not to miss is the Celtic Music Sunset Sail with Michael O’Leary & Friends cruise, when traditional music and song fill the heart and soul as you slip past history and witness the divine dance of fading light. The experience is one that will stay with you forever.

      The Schooner Ardelle, Gloucester, Massachusetts

    • Our Box of Stories

      I spent a few minutes scanning the Substack of a clever hipster with far more subscribers than I have on that platform and really all of my platforms combined. She stated that blogging is long dead, and Substack was getting there itself. And I smiled to myself, knowing just how uncool I’ve become for still calling it a blog. Why not simply call it writing? Or a daily newsletter? Or the complicated ramblings of a self-absorbed passenger on this ship of fools we call now? It’s all just the great conversation, in whatever way we dare to put it out there. The rest is positioning ourselves as close to relevance as we can get, if we choose to. Some of us forgo influence for deeper, calmer waters. It all matters, and none of it matters, all at once. We do the best we can where we are, with what we have.

      Our box of stories is that which surrounds us, holding us in place so we don’t stray too far into reckless places. My story is telling me to be responsible today and go to work after writing this [whatever we want to call it] and doing a few chores around the homestead so it’s still in one piece when I eventually return. There’s more to the story than that, but why bog down your story by going long with mine? Let’s keep it real, and really concise.

      The thing is, we know we ought to re-write our stories now and then, just to change the box we find ourselves trapped in. We’re all running out of time to experience all that lies outside our box. That’s the underlying story, no matter how we write it. We don’t have to ruin all our stories, but we ought to stretch the box beyond the limits those stories have given us. Today is as good a day to try something new as any. What are we currently writing? Make it fresh and a little bolder than the box can contain.

    • One Dance Left

      This whole damn world could fall apart
      You’ll be okay, follow your heart
      You’re in harm’s way, I’m right behind
      Now say you’re mine
      You’ve got the music in you
      Don’t let go
      You’ve got the music in you
      One dance left
      This world is gonna pull through
      Don’t give up
      You’ve got a reason to live
      Can’t forget
      We only get what we give
      — New Radicals, You Get What You Give

      You Get What You Give was released in 1998, which was surely a monumental year in my life. After this weekend, I’ll always think of the song differently, yet just the same. It neatly bookends a few chapters in this epic we’re collectively writing in our lives, and maybe you strongly associate it with a few moments in your own life too. Some songs seem to stir up emotion and magic in just the right way. Thank the DJ for spinning the playlist so breathtakingly right.

      And after the music stops, after the guests have all gone home, what then? Look around. There’s so much more to do. We can’t give it all up now, friend. For life is about momentum. It’s the Jim Collins analogy about pushing the flywheel: It wasn’t any one push, it was pushing every day that built all that we have in our lives. Momentum works for or against us. A little rest and recovery is necessary, but we must know when to rise back up to meet the next moment.

      And that moment? Here it comes, ready or not. Best to be prepared to meet it, don’t you think? After all, we only get what we give.

    • Whispering in the Maelstrom

      “There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.”
      — Leonardo da Vinci

      Recent visits to modern art museums stretched my perspective on things I previously hadn’t seen. When we’re rushing past a work of art to go see something more accessible, we’re never going to absorb what the artist was trying to tell us. To find our own pace, set for discovery, opens up our senses in ways that we never might have reached otherwise. This level of awareness is transferrable to the rest of our lives, but it requires elbow room to grow.

      We live in a time where anyone can believe anything and get someone to follow along if they shout long enough in the right direction. Personally, I’m tired of the ambient noise. I’ve worked to back away from much of the technology that amplifies the uninformed or self-righteous in favor of deeper waters. We humans think and see and feel best when we aren’t floating in a soup of chaos. Heightened awareness comes from focus.

      I believe I saved my life this summer by focusing on fewer things, just when many things erupted all at once. Maybe not my imminent demise, but by avoiding an irreversible downward trend of declining health, rising stress and perpetual distraction. Most of our physical and mental health problems are based on accumulating and holding on to toxins: trans fats, sodium, alcohol, angry people, social media, stagnation… you get the idea. We must learn to stop collecting all this garbage in our lives if we are to ever reach clarity again.

      The thing is, it’s easy to stay on the carousel. It’s easy to get back on it too. We catch a glimpse of the bright lights and galloping horses, hear the catchy music and we’re drawn in. To walk away from all of that life wants to throw at us is difficult by design, but it’s the only way to finally see what else is out there in the world, wanting our attention—beginning with that inner voice whispering in the maelstrom for us to follow a different path while there’s still time.

    • RIP Ozzy

      Crazy, but that’s how it goes
      Millions of people living as foes
      Maybe it’s not too late
      To learn how to love and forget how to hate
      — Ozzy Osbourne, Crazy Train

      Ozzy had an image on stage that freaked people out a bit. Maybe it was the whole biting of the bat thing. But behind all of that was a performer, brilliantly leveraging madness for success. It seems we are all crazy after all, or want to be now and then.

      I was swept up with Ozzy for a few years, and then moved into other kinds of music. But he was always part of the soundtrack, and always will be, because his music fits the times we live in. Listen to Black Sabbath’s War Pigs and then have a look at the headlines and tell me that anything has changed. It’s all madness, and we’re witnesses to it. Dare to point it out and watch them turn on you.

      Another rock star gone from this world. Thanks for the soundtrack Ozzy, it’s been a hell of a ride. For better or probably for worse, this crazy train we’re on keeps on rolling.

    • All Politics Are Local

      It occurred to me while walking just last night that the neighborhood had snuck back up on me again. For a few years there it felt isolated and suspicious, and angry at the state of the world. Or maybe that was always me, reacting to the trend in national politics, the trend towards oligarchs, the trend toward meanness and selfishness and isolationism.

      The world is a complicated mess—surely it is, but our world, the one that we live in every day, need not be. Community is the people who surround us. The people who knew us ten or twenty years ago and still choose to ask how we’re doing now. It occurred to me that the neighborhood is full of people who are just trying to make a go at this one precious life just like I am.

      It took a lot of walks with the pup to lift the fog of perception away. A dog is an invitation to shatter the cone of silence that hovers over people in this strange new world we live in. Polite nods become long conversations, which in turn flip the script from divisiveness to connectedness. And soon it feels like the place we were meant to be at this time in our lives.

      They say all politics are local. We all just want to be heard. We all just want to be accepted for who we are. Well, that requires a reciprocal investment in hearing others out, and accepting them for who they are too. The pendulum swings abruptly one direction to the next and back again over time. And all the while, we still have to live with one another. We might as well enjoy each other’s company.

    • Faces on the Wall

      Whenever I visit an art museum, I work to appreciate what the artist was saying with their work. As with everything meaningful, we feel art as much as we see it. But there will always be some art that just doesn’t reach us.

      When I come across art that I don’t feel, I concede that either the muse wasn’t trying to reach me through that artist or perhaps that artist missed the opportunity to connect. Either way I move on to find art that I may feel immensely. Tempus fugit: time flies, and life is too short to linger with art that doesn’t connect.

      I may linger with impressionistic landscapes or cubism or neoclassicism, but I know that the art that will usually stop me in my tracks is simply a portrait. I’m drawn to faces on the wall just as I am with faces in a crowd. Human connection across space and time is my empathic jam. Does that make me less sophisticated than the lover of modern art? Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. We must ignore those who would shame us for what we love.

      Rembrandt Laughing, self-portrait
      Portrait of Suzanne Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau, Jacques-Louis David
      Child Braiding a Crown, William-Adolphe Bouguereau
      Isaac Fuller, self-portrait
      Raphael breaking the fourth wall, Raphael Rooms
      The Dean’s Roll Call, Thomas Eakins