Alexandersmap

    Tag: Philosophy

    • Leaving Long Shadows

      “Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

      The march through time continues. What will the shadow that we cast behind our lives look like? I’m reading through a couple of weighty tomes that run through evolution. Don’t know why the stars aligned in such a way that I’m diving deep into evolution at this particular moment, but here we are.

      Maybe it was the subject matter but I absently sketched a dinosaur on a notepad and thought about these giants who came and went millions of years ago. Millions. So what is a hundred years or so for us? Not a whole lot.

      Or maybe it’s enough, if you use it well.

      The point is, we’re all leaving shadows behind us. What will our shadows be? Long and notable or brief and forgettable? In some ways it doesn’t matter when you look at life through the lens of millions of years. But then again, doesn’t it all matter in the end?

      This planet has been spinning around in the universe for billions of years. Dinosaurs roamed millions of years ago. These are big numbers. But this? This is our time. Shouldn’t we make the most of it, and leave the longest shadow we can? I should think so.

      Time Flies

    • Living in the Layers

      I have walked through many lives,
      some of them my own,
      and I am not who I was,
      though some principle of being
      abides, from which I struggle
      not to stray.

      We’re all collectors of sorts. Accumulating experience, relationships and perspective as we march through our time on this spinning blue ball in the dark vacuum of infinity. We acquire it all and, if we’re generous, bundle it up into shared wisdom before we become part of infinity ourselves. This sharing of experience differs from shared experience; that which you and I might experience together. Sharing is passing something of ourselves along to others, as I’m passing along this Stanley Kunitz poem.

      When I look behind,
      as I am compelled to look
      before I can gather strength
      to proceed on my journey,
      I see the milestones dwindling
      toward the horizon
      and the slow fires trailing
      from the abandoned camp-sites,
      over which scavenger angels
      wheel on heavy wings.
      Oh, I have made myself a tribe
      out of my true affections,
      and my tribe is scattered!

      The last few weeks are a whirlwind of my tribe coming home and leaving home. One returns, one leaves, friends stay for the weekend, other friends drift apart. We all scatter about to wherever the song in our hearts lead us. That we remain together at all is a blessing of shared moments.

      How shall the heart be reconciled
      to its feast of losses?
      In a rising wind
      the manic dust of my friends,
      those who fell along the way,
      bitterly stings my face.
      Yet I turn, I turn,
      exulting somewhat,
      with my will intact to go
      wherever I need to go,
      and every stone on the road
      precious to me.

      I try to explain how this will go to my children as they graduate and move into new phases of their lives. Most relationships are based on convenience and proximity. Teammates, classmates, coworkers, soccer parents… in each case you share something in common at the same time and place, and meaningful moments collect here. But the bond is only as strong as the links that hold it together. Most relationships eventually drift apart, though you might pick up exactly where you left off when you see each other again and piece together what you’ve each been up to in the interim. Some relationships seem to stand the test of time and trial and absence.

      In my darkest night,
      when the moon was covered
      and I roamed through wreckage,
      a nimbus-clouded voice
      directed me:
      “Live in the layers,
      not on the litter.”
      Though I lack the art
      to decipher it,
      no doubt the next chapter
      in my book of transformations
      is already written.
      I am not done with my changes.
      – Stanley Kunitz, The Layers

      Life is littered with old bonds broken by circumstance. But experience informs. We’re all changing, and our transformation continues even as the tribe changes too. Each layer of our life makes us deeper. Each chapter adds context and richness. We are the sum of our accumulated experience, relationships and perspectives to this point. All these layers add up to one hell of a stepping stone.

      Which makes you eagerly wonder… just where might this next step lead to?

    • Life From the After

      “I wrote a song called ‘Death Is Not the End’ a couple of years ago, and I never finished it. But I liked the idea, because I guess I don’t believe that it is the end. I carry so many ancestors with me on a daily basis. I experience my father regularly. I experience Clarence. I experience my old assistant, Terry Magovern. They visit me in my dreams quite often — I may see them, you know, several times a year.

      So, this idea is you don’t lose everything when someone dies. You do lose their physical presence, but their physical presence is not all of them, and it never was all of them, even when they were alive. Spirit is very strong. Emotion is very strong. Their energy is very strong. And a lot of this, particularly for people who are very powerful, really carries over after death.” – Bruce Springsteen, from Robert Love Interview: Bruce Springsteen, A Homecoming, AARP

      I recognize the larger than life people who have passed from my life in this quote. I hear their laughter, see the twinkle in their eye, feel their presence in certain moments. Those we’ve lost return to us over and over again, if not in physical form.

      Memorial Day in the United States honors those we’ve lost in battle, and I honor them as well. I think of my uncle, whom I never met, who died in the Korean War. I feel his presence, not as a person but as a hole in the family often mentioned with reverence by those who once knew him. Even as those who did know him pass away themselves, his presence remains. His presence was very strong, and amplified by his abrupt and premature passing in war. Those who were touched by him have touched me, and the ripple continues across the pond.

      That’s the thing about losing someone. Their presence filled us, and without that there’s a void in our lives. The void remains, even as other things like children and work and friendships fill in around it. Springsteen points out that they’re never really gone, they’re just physically not here. The larger they were in life the more of them remains with us after life.

      This Memorial Day I think about those who carry over after death. Ripples big and small, reverberating in this life from the after. And I honor and celebrate their time here. And know they’ve never really left us.

    • Let It Rain

      “The sound of the rain needs no translation.” – Alan Watts

      A rainy weekend dashes the dreams of many. For me it provides an opportunity to refill the pool, water the garden and catch up on reading and favorite old songs from years ago. Songs that pair well with raindrops tapping on hard surfaces. Rainy days are a necessary chapter in the story, and I welcome the cool, soggy embrace. The world is changing, and collectively so are we.

      The timing of this rainy weekend is unfair for businesses deeply impacted by the pandemic. Imagine riding out the storm and circling this weekend to open up to full capacity and having it rain buckets. Imagine seeing things begin to brighten and suddenly the dark clouds open up again, washing away dreams of outdoor sports and al fresco dining. Have we learned empathy in the darkest of days? I hope so.

      We’re all living through the storm together, and some of us are, apparently, on the other side of it. But storms don’t hit us all the same. Some are going to be hit harder than others. Some will have it linger for years. And some will never see the other side of it. Let it rain if it must, but remember those who are weathering the worst of the storm.

      No, I have no business complaining about a rainy weekend. We’ve seen far worse than this. And we will again. Rain washes away old memories and feeds new growth. The world greens up in celebration. Shouldn’t we? Welcome the raindrops for what they offer. This too shall pass, and what will remain of us on the other side? What new possibilities are germinating even now in the soggy soil?

    • Caretakers of the Present

      “Even when we get what we wish, it is not ours.” – Publius Syrus

      We’re all in a relationship with time. Some relationships are abusive, some are blissful. Time teases us. We think we have so much of it, but that’s a fabric of our imagination, like the belief that we might just live forever. The days fly by in rapid succession, and we do with them what we can.

      Over the last week I’ve wrestled with a yard relentlessly assaulted by the surrounding trees, raining pollen and catkins and samaras into and on to everything I’d worked to clean up until the rains came and turned the tide in my favor. The chores of home ownership are relentless and a fool’s game. Yet it offers the meditative work required for me to sort out the rest of this crazy world. For all my complaints, I recognize this plot of land I’ve squatted on is borrowed from the universe, and I appreciate what it’s brought to me.

      And some day I’ll return it to that universe to do with it whatever it must. Will this land return to the oaks, pines and maples that regularly reach back for what was stolen from them, or will the house will be torn down and the pool filled in to make way for a McMansion as the region continues to face the pressure of urban sprawl. Who knows? I’m the caretaker of the present, such that it is, and recognize the folly in it all.

      What we receive is not really ours. What we have is on loan in the present, be it stuff or relationships or a plot of land with a modest garden. It’s ours to work with as best we can today. If we think of ourselves as caretakers instead of consumers, we might just leave something for those who come after us. That’s not exactly a new way of thinking, but maybe forgotten in the assault of consumerism and consumption and pursuit of “ownership”.

      We might wish for more time, but like stuff we accumulate, it’s not really ours. Once you accept that time is on loan to us, it liberates you. Simply dance with these days and forget the math. We have what we have, and the rest is not our concern. Take care of the present. While there’s still time.

    • Chasing the End

      There’s a phenomenon in reading a great, page-turner of a book where you can’t finish a page fast enough. The pace of your reading accelerates and you blow through pages quickly, and suddenly you finish the book in a daze. You look up and hours have gone by in the blink of an eye and you realize that you’ve just stepped out of the pages of a time machine.

      Life itself is full of moments like this. You can readily rattle off those highlight moments, maybe at a party or traveling or deep in conversation with someone of interest where we are completely transfixed with in that moment. Where does the time go? When we’re so deeply engaged in this moment and entranced by the possibility in the next, what happens?

      We aren’t really chasing the end of the story or the life moment, we’re dancing with it. There’s a state of euphoria in reading that great book, watching that great film or participating in that magical moment that transcends time. A life, well-lived, ought to feel very much like this.

      We’ve all experienced the opposite. The dull reads, the awkwardly boring work event, the polite small talk with someone who doesn’t share their life force with you. Those times when we sketch imaginative drawings on note pads or silently glance at our phone to be anywhere else but there.

      Look, I know every movie can’t be a blockbuster. Every scene can’t transfix you in wonder. How would you even know what bliss was if you didn’t suffer through boring now and then? But life is too short to go through the motions.

      We’re all chasing the end of our story. How do we make this time machine vibrate and buzz a little louder on the journey? Our time machines should be bursting at the seams with experiences when we reach the last stop, don’t you think? For when we finish, when we reach that last page of our brilliant life story, we ought to look up in those final seconds and say…

      Wow.

    • A Moment of Wonder

      Yesterday morning I chanced upon an Oriole in the garden. He looked at me and I at him and we both had our moment of interspecies connection before he decided to fly off to join his mate (who was no doubt pissed at him for his boldness). The bright orange and dark black are still locked in my mind a day later.

      That night in the very same spot I stood while the fireflies made their debut in the yard. More likely, it was the first performance I could attend. They lit up the darkness at the edge of the woods, just as the brilliant moon was rising through the trees. I expect fireflies know more about illumination than I do, but I was beaming just the same at their shared performance. That big, bold moon and the small, sparkling fireflies dancing quietly in the dark to an audience of one.

      What do we make of the moon this week? Called the Super Flower Blood Moon because it’s a combination of the May full moon and a timely lunar eclipse. This kind of thing stirs the collective imagination of the press, the talking heads who eagerly point out the big event. As a sky geek I’m aware of it, and appreciate the need of a news celebrity to talk about something besides a mass shooting or some other tragedy happening somewhere, right now, that may impact me next. Those masters of string pulling and I can agree that this moon is something special, and special things should be seen.

      But just because something should be seen doesn’t mean that it can be. As is usually the case when there’s something of note happening in the sky, it was overcast in my part of New Hampshire in the early morning hours. The lunar eclipse, like so much in this universe, wasn’t meant to be shared with me today.

      But the universe giveth even as it taketh away. Yesterday it offered those encounters with a bold Oriole and dancing fireflies, and each changed me in our moment together. I should think a moment of wonder is all we can really ask for from the universe. Just remember to say thank you.

    • The Sleeping Compass

      You go through life thinking you’ve got things pretty well figured out (while knowing deep down that nobody does), and suddenly you trip over something you never thought of before. That’s the beauty of travel and expanded reading – you discover things that challenge the way you think. When you consume the same information every day that shell you crawl into gets pretty thick. ’tis better to get out and swim in new currents to see where it takes you.

      Many people know of Feng Shui and Vastu Shastra and this business of designing your dwelling to optimize living. Honestly, this isn’t an area where I’ve applied significant mental capacity. But lately I’ve read a bit more about Vastu Shastra and the direction you sleep in. Generally I spend about as much time figuring out which direction to sleep in as it takes to see where the headboard is. Perhaps I should have thought about it a little more.

      There are sleep compass headings developed over billions of lifetimes. The ideal sleep position for restful, restorative sleep is south. Those seeking knowledge should point east. If you’re seeking success, point west. And north? That seems to be reserved for the walking dead. Like sticking your head in a freezer.

      It seems I’ve been sleeping with my head pointing towards the west for the last 22 years. This is much better than my previous home, where I slept with my head pointing north. I’m sure glad we got out of there! Would my life have turned out differently had I simply stuck the headboard on the south-facing wall? Has facing west made that much of a difference in my success? What might have been?

      The thing is, I’m not sure I’m going to start moving the furniture around in the bedroom, or bringing a compass with me when I start staying in hotels again, but I see the merit of knowing where you are and how you’re positioned. I do believe the next overnight hiking trip might involve a quick consultation with the compass before setting up the tent and sleeping pad. After a long day of hiking a restful, restorative sleep would be most welcome.

      Living a fully optimized life begins with evaluating the best practices of our billions of fellow humans and seeing what works for you. That last bit, seeing what works for you, requires an open mind and the willingness to try something new. Maybe pointing your sleepy head to the south is worth a try.

    • An Open Mind and a Closed Mouth

      “Many fail to grasp what they have seen, and cannot judge what they have learned, although they tell themselves they know.” – Heraclitus

      If I’ve learned anything in my time on this planet it’s that I don’t know much of anything about most things. But I know a lot about a few things. Very few things, really. The rest is just general knowledge mixed with opinion and occasional bluffing. But even here, I’ve learned to just say what I know and don’t know. The truth shall set you free.

      Knowing what you don’t know, you learn to recognize what other people don’t know. No matter what they say. And sometimes specifically because of what and how they say it. If we are the average of the five people we hang around with the most, do we really want to be a mix of ill-informed opinion and gossip? I should think not.

      Too many are quick to weigh in with advice and commentary on things they’re clearly not experts in. Knowing something well generally means being able to explain it in terms a child might understand. Given this, it seems that most people are bluffing. For all the information readily available in the world, most people just take something they heard at face value and parrot it back at you like it’s gospel.

      Learning begins with first seek to understand. That requires a healthy dose of humility and knowing what you don’t know. When you approach the world with an open mind and a closed mouth you can learn all kinds of things. Like what kind of person you want to become. That seems to be a good starting point.

    • The Ones That Got Away

      Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
      Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
      transparent scarlet paper,
      sizzle like moth wings,
      marry the air.

      We’re into the long days now in New England. Days of early light and lingering twilight well into the evening. I wake to the sound of fishermen racing to seize their moment, wondering at the urgency of a favorite fishing spot when the entire bay is full of fish. They fish with purpose. Purpose brings intensity and competition. I know these things, even if I don’t share their commitment to fishing before the sun rises. I use that time for other things.

      So much of any year is flammable,
      lists of vegetables, partial poems.
      Orange swirling flame of days,
      so little is a stone.

      I don’t understand the lure of fishing but I understand the pull of the open water. I know the call of the early morning air. I imagine the Striper are running just below the surface as I watch the water. The lilacs are out and so they must be too. Lilacs come and go so quickly, don’t they? So, it seems, do the Striper.

      Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
      an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
      I begin again with the smallest numbers.

      Every year we go through this, these fishermen and women out on the water and me watching from shore. The boats change and so do the characters in them, but still the fish run with the tides. This year feels more optimistic than last year. We’ve all come through something together, even if we aren’t quite there yet. But the Striper don’t care a lick what we’ve been through.

      Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
      only the things I didn’t do
      crackle after the blazing dies.
      -Naomi Shihab Nye, Burning the Old Year

      So many of these moments disappear like sparks into the night sky. We burn through days like firewood, and make the most of so few of them. So much of our time burns away, and we’re left holding on to scraps of memorable. While contemplating the ones that got away.