Alexandersmap

    Category: Culture

    • The Rhizome Remains

      “We do not know how life is going to turn out. Therefore the story has no beginning, and the end can only be vaguely hinted at. The life of man is a dubious experiment. It is a tremendous phenomenon only in numerical terms. Individually, it is so fleeting, so insufficient, that it is literally a miracle that anything can exist and develop at all. I was impressed by that fact long ago, as a young medical student, and it seemed to me miraculous that I should not have been prematurely annihilated. Life has always seemed to me like a plant that lives on its rhizome. Its true life is invisible, hidden in the rhizome. The part that appears above ground lasts only a single summer. Then it withers away — an ephemeral apparition.
      When we think of the unending growth and decay of life and civilizations, we cannot escape the impression of absolute nullity. Yet I have never lost a sense of something that lives and endures beneath the eternal flux. What we see is blossom, which passes. The rhizome remains. In the end the only events in my life worth telling are those when the imperishable world erupted into this transitory one. That is why I speak chiefly of inner experiences, amongst which I include my dreams and visions. These form the prima materia of my scientific work.”
      — Carl Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections

      Our lifespan is but the bloom that eventually withers away, yet the rhizome remains in our spirit and the work we leave behind for others. Think of the traits we see carry from generation to generation. Think of the art and music that resonates long after the composer has withered away. We have people that stay with us for the rest of our days; we can see the twinkle in their eye, we can hear their laughter. Life is Jung’s ephemeral apparition, but as we feel of those who have transcended this world, the physical manifestation of our being isn’t all there is of us.

      Our season is very short, but rooted below the surface we’re anchored to eternity. And this, when you think about it, offers a bit of hope in this ridiculous game of living. For we come and go in our season, but our rhizome remains. There’s a sense of permanence in that, as we make the most of our impermanent time in bloom. We shine in our time and offer what we might to those who carry on.

      The present season, anchored to eternity

    • Bravado and Bluffs (How Wars Begin)

      “We have to remind ourselves that, at that moment, Blitzkrieg was nothing. It was just a bunch of stalled Panzers. Just a monstrous traffic jam on the Austrian highways, some furious men, a word that was coined later, like a gamble. What’s astounding about this war is the remarkable triumph of bravado, from which we can infer one lesson: everyone is susceptible to a bluff. Even the strictest, most serious, most old-world souls: they might not give in to the demands of justice, they might not yield to an insurgent populace, but they’ll always fold before a bluff.”
      — Eric Vuillard, The Order of the Day

      It’s hard not to read this quote about the earliest days of World War II and not see current events in the world. We’re seeing bravado and bluster all around us, and the voices of those who stand up against it shouted down in social media and in mob rallies. This isn’t far off from what was happening in 1930’s Europe. We’ve always seen it, really, for humans live to react and take time to think about the consequences when it’s too late.

      History is full of thugs and gangsters rising to power on a bluff and a healthy dose of intimidation. To think it’s not happening now is to live with blinders on. But we wonder, who are we to raise a voice in protest? Why rock the boat when you see what happens to others who do? We all have our filters on, biting our tongue when the oddball rambles about something a bit too extreme for our tastes. Why give them any momentum at all?

      I was at a trade show in Las Vegas, listening to some people I know parroting some mob rally talking points. I wasn’t surprised at their point of view, but taken aback that they’d voice it in the midst of industry peers. And what are you to do in that moment? Argue the contrary? Who wants to argue with someone you’re trying to do business with? And that’s exactly how a fringe idea vocalized becomes accepted by some who lean in that particular direction.

      I write this with a sense of optimism. It feels like the world has recoiled, finally, in the face of Putin’s aggression. In the face of Trump’s sedition. Yet the mob rallies continue. The lights are on and the cockroaches scatter, but they’re still there, waiting for their opportunity to come back out. Don’t give it to them.

      Bravado and bluster attracts some even as it repulses others. We either rise up and face it or we enable it. Strong leadership requires a play for the middle. The middle must recoil and throw them out before they gain momentum. Call their bluff—before it’s too late. As we’ve seen, it can happen here too.

    • Upon Further Review

      “Suppose we suddenly wake up and see that what we thought to be this and that, ain’t this and that at all?” — Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

      The world is full of revelations, for the way we see the world is never really how the world is. Collect enough revelations and you learn to take what people tell you at face value. People have funny beliefs about everything from political or religious affiliation to the subjectivity of the officiating at sporting events. Waking up to the truth in the world requires humility. We all think we’ve got it all figured out. Often what we figure out is that we didn’t really have anything figured out.

      There’s been a plethora of articles in business publications recently about The Great Resignation. Millions of people decided to leave their jobs and to leap into another or just get out of the rat race entirely. I know a few of these people, and easily understand their desire to change things up. Millions of people looked around and said, “This can’t be my purpose here, can it?” They finally saw that it wasn’t all this and that.

      Every day offers an opportunity to review all those things we think we have figured out. All those beliefs we cling to. Every day offers an opportunity to change it all. But it also presents an opportunity to celebrate what we have. Isn’t that something?

    • To Let It Go

      If I could through myself
      Set your spirit free, I’d lead your heart away
      See you break, break away
      Into the light
      And to the day
      — U2, Bad

      When you think about the trajectory of U2 prior to the ubiquitous madness of Joshua Tree, it was Bad that became the song the crowd took possession of. The band carries it, always, but it soars with the collective energy of the crowd. It was the performance that everyone was talking about during Live Aid (at least until Queen took the stage). U2 grabs moments in that way, elevating a simple song about heroin addiction into so much more.

      This desperation
      Dislocation
      Separation, condemnation
      Revelation in temptation
      Isolation, desolation
      Let it go

      Each person who hears the call in Bad feels themselves in it. We never dabbled in drug addiction but we have our own demons. Listen to it now, with the perspective of a global pandemic and yet another war and the collective addiction of social media and its demand to pick sides. Listen to it now having lost something of yourself. Listen to it having seen parts of yourself slip away. It takes on a meaning it didn’t have in simpler times.

      Even with—especially with—this bruised and battered lens of 2022, the call is the same: To wake up and find hope somewhere above the darkness in the world. Above the darkness in ourselves. To let it go and set your spirit free. It remains a timeless call waiting to be heard.

    • Finding Balance: The Vernal Equinox

      If you’ve been seeking balance in your life, today’s your day. March 20 brings balance to the earth once again. The sun is positioned directly over the equator, making the day and night exactly the same. If you love the idea of yin and yang and skating the line between order and chaos, then March 20, 2022 is your happy place.

      For those in the Northern Hemisphere who prefer day to night, this is good news. You’ll have more and more of the former. For friends in the Southern Hemisphere, well, you’ll have more time for stargazing and romantic evenings. The Northern Hemisphere began this slow tilt back towards the sun on December 21st on the winter solstice, and will finish its tilt and start heading back away from it on June 21st, the summer solstice. For those keeping score the next vernal equinox will occur on September 22nd.

      These are the four quadrants of the year, making one wonder why the calendar year wasn’t set to these four reference points. The answer is that the calendar year was originally set to the beginning of farming season, which in Rome meant March 1. March, being the “first” month, was named for Mars (there’s an interesting article about how the months got their names here). So much of who we are today was derived from those Romans.

      So, lovers of balance, celebrate today like it’s the last day on earth, because it is but a one day celebration. Tomorrow day and night are once again out of balance. The earth is permanently off-kilter, and this odd fact both explains and sustains those of us who inhabit this crazy planet. Perfect only happens 2 out of 365 days per year. For those of us who are far from perfect, the other 99.5 % of the year is our time for celebration. Cheers!

    • Keeping Watch in the Cape Cod Fog

      Cape Cod is a summer playground, we all know that. But what of winter and early spring? These “off” seasons are often described by well-meaning seasonal snobs as desolate and depressing. I’d argue for the stark beauty of isolation, and seek it out whenever possible. The Cape isn’t desolate off-season; it’s dormant. If you listen you’ll hear the pulse of preparation for the busy months. You’ll see the changes as houses transform from small cottages to McMansions all around you. People want to be here, more than ever, and will pay insane sums of money to have their place in the sand.

      I spoke with a neighbor, who lives alone on a plot of land he bought against the strong wishes of his future in-laws for $10,000 back when the Beatles were still cranking out albums. That view is worth well over 100 times what he paid for it back in the day. But money doesn’t matter for him now, what matters is this spot and his place in it. He keeps watch on the bay, talks of old storms and the last time he saw a seal on the beach. Time flies by, and he’s one of the last holdouts from the original young hopefuls buying property in this small piece of paradise. Five and a half decades watching the tides ebb and flow teaches you a few things, and he’s happy to share lessons if you invest your time. I’m in investor in such time.

      I check in on him whenever I visit the Cape, especially off-season. I might be the last person who stepped into his house over a month ago. I’m surely not his first choice for visitors but he hasn’t locked the door on me yet. I did a couple of chores for him while he settled in for story time. He spoke of old cocktail parties as I brought up a few bottles of scotch and bourbon coated in a decade of dust from his basement. His sister was coming over in a week or two (what’s time?) and they were going to light it up once again, having a cocktail with a view of the bay.

      Walking alone in the thick Buzzards Bay fog the next morning, I thought of him alone in his house with the million dollar view. He’s like a lighthouse keeper forever on watch as the world changes around him. He’s both an anchor to what once was and a witness to what is becoming of the upper Cape. Walking around, I was drawn to the bits of hardscape that rose up out of the fog, to reflections in water and the sense of timeless change. We’re all lighthouse keepers in the fog, both anchors and witnesses. We hold relationships and communities together, remember the lessons of the past and share them when we have an audience willing to listen.

      Fog is disorienting because our eyes have nothing to lock on to. The swirling white mist hides both the objects we seek out and the ones we hope to avoid. A lighthouse keeper cuts through the confusion and helps us realize our place. Moving around the bay, seeing objects rise up to greet me, I understood why I’d come down here alone. I was simply keeping watch, it was and always has been about the lighthouse.

      Monument Beach, in the Upper Cape town of Bourne
      Cape Cod Railroad Bridge swallowed in Buzzards Bay fog

    • The Possibility of Beauty

      “What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek.” — Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

      Positioning this idea of beauty in the world seems quaint when wars and pandemics flood us with so much ugliness and darkness. What are we to do but find light in the darkest corners? Life is a dance along the edge between chaos and order, and we must know both. But we can’t dwell in either. Still, if we are to become what we focus on the most, why not focus on beauty?

      Writing, like photography, focuses us on what we want to find in the world. We seek out wonder while our opposites wrestle for control and influence. If the world teaches us anything it’s that life is textured and imperfect and more than a little unfair. But it’s still a blessing to be here in it. To celebrate the inexhaustible beauty in this complicated world is a mission of possibility and hope. What we make of it is up to us.

    • The Aurora Dash

      The Aurora Borealis visited Southern New Hampshire again last night. I know it because reliable sources told me so, not because I actually saw it myself. But I dashed outside, cursed the bright Waxing Gibbous moon and the neighbors for their inclination to leave outdoor lights on and sought out the darkest parts of the street for… nothing. Well, nothing but the universe, which is admittedly still pretty spectacular.

      When you live on the absolute edge of reach of the Northern Lights you suffer through many moments like this. What are we to do but venture northward to Aurora destinations? We choose where we live where we live for the proximity to others, not for the dance in the sky. Maybe we have it all wrong?

      The act of dashing outside for the remote possibility of seeing colors in the sky isn’t unusual for me. I do it every morning to see how the universe is waking up. Many nights, wishing to properly tuck the day in for the evening, you’ll find me peeking outside for a splash of orange and pink and purple highlights. And if there’s even a hint of a meteor shower you’ll find me out in the dark like a madman, shuffling foot to foot or lying on the ground staring up at Perseus.

      This all might seem crazy, but I’d suggest that watching manufactured drama unfold in 30-60 minute segments is just as crazy. I dash to greet the universe, others may dash back to the couch after a bathroom break during commercials. Both dashes might have their place in our lives. The bigger question, I suppose, is where do you want your dash bring you?

    • The Thing About Busy

      “Being busy is most often used as a guise for avoiding the few critically important but uncomfortable actions.” — Tim Ferriss

      We have a love/hate relationship with busy. We all want for more quiet time, but when we get it we quickly yearn for the energy of hustle and bustle. This is compounded by the story we tell ourselves that those who get ahead are the busiest and hardest-working among us. That might help make you a Partner at one of the “Big Three” consulting firms or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. But how often do we stop and ask ourselves why in the world we’d ever want that title? It’s a Faustian bargain—a deal with the Devil to have it all now in exchange for your soul.

      Screw that.

      Status doesn’t mean you’re successful at living. It just means you ground out more miles. Do we ever stop to ask what really gets ground in the process? Think about the last conversation you had with a “really busy” person. Was it meaningful or a transaction? Frazzled is a posture that doesn’t highlight one’s positive traits. To be calmly efficient is a choice; just as much of a choice as frazzled. But with better hair.

      We can be successful in life without sacrificing 300,000 heartbeats a week for the profitability of whatever stock symbol we happen to align ourselves with. The thing about busy is it’s a story we tell ourselves as an excuse for not doing what we really want to do. It takes courage to stop hiding behind busy.

      Instead we might choose contemplation and conversation and the deliberation of taking meaningful steps. We might seek experience accumulation and relationship building. We could delight in pregnant pauses. We can give ourselves permission to celebrate deep thinking and active listening and finding the right word without Googling it. We can rejoice in finishing what we once so boldly started but put aside because we’ve been so damned… busy.

    • Let Your Steps Dance Silently

      And if your feet are ever mobile
      Upon this ancient drum, the earth,
      O do not let your precious movements
      Come to naught.
      Let your steps dance silently
      To the rhythm of the Beloved’s Name!
      — Hafiz, A Wild, Holy Band

      It’s easy to slip into dark places in a world where insulin and baby formula cost more per gallon than gasoline or whiskey. It’s easy to slide sideways into despair watching the news or scrolling Twitter. To grow impatient and angry with all that is wrong in the world. For that is what they want of us. To divide and provoke for personal profit seems to be the growth model of the dark side of humanity.

      And yet we might dance across our time on earth as steady unifiers. We might tread softly in beautiful places and leave it as we found it as a quiet gift for those who follow us. In our silently determined way leave a message of hope for generations well beyond us to use as an anchor in their own time. Even in the darkest days we may still shine a light on something others might have missed, and offer a lifeline for those who are drowning in the stream of horror and outrage.

      Surely, we can’t dance lightly across time with a heavy heart, and the world offers plenty of reasons for us to despair. But at the very same moment, while we’re focused so intently on one bit of misery, the universe offers hope and love and a reason to carry on just beyond the corner of our eye. Which do we focus on? For that is what we become.

      We are Pilgrims for hope and love and spirituality. We dance across our time offering a lifeline for those who might otherwise drown in the dark. Don’t mistake the dance as blithe ignorance, but as silent vigilance. We’re here to hold it all together, not to run off the cliff waving our arms and screaming in despair. We’re here to dance with life and in our courage draw others out onto the dance floor with us. To use our dance across our time as an inspiration for others to rise.