A note from the Winter past

Once upon a time, I carried a camera with me wherever I went. That was partly because of my work and partly because I enjoyed photography. While both those things might still be sort of true yet today, they are much less so. The result is that I have fewer photos of my own with which to illustrate (or simply to decorate) commentaries that I write. In this instance, the subject of the landscape around Lake Superior came up in a recent "conversation," and I decided to retrieve a photo I took during my brief jaunt there last summer. This was taken about midway up the Minnesota portion of the North Shore. Possibly, the North Shore and, for sure, the South Shore (in Michigan) of The Lake will be on my list of places to re-visit during the month of September.

Time only is time for what is meant,
not what was said

Epilogue

"I came here (to Warsaw, Poland) with the intent to construct a long-term, romantic relationship and to hide out in a city / country overflowing with an aurora of history while attempting to do some serious writing ....

"I have since learned what would have been obvious to anyone other than to me: Neither undertaking is conducive to the success of the other. Each one steals time and energy from the other, creating little chance for success in either. But, time will tell. We shall see. Or, as the frequently inebriated Ernest Hemingway was known to observe with astuteness found only in a successful novelist: 'It will either happen or it won't'."

I wrote those words, among others, in a note to five or six individuals around the first of February, give or take. For me to make such a revelation to so many others regarding current, personal matters is, in itself, almost remarkable. There is only one person with whom I communicate regularly (a life-long friend). Correspondence with others only happens when I have a specific reason. It is clear to me now how troubled I was at the time.

To the ghost of Hemingway, I am unhappy to report that it apparently will not "happen." But, as most adventures in life, it provided me with the opportunity to learn (or, perhaps, to re-learn) a valuable lesson or two.

On the other side of the coin, I am most pleased to report to all others that it was the most wonderful Winter I believe I ever have experienced in my entire life -- or, at the very least, for a long, long time. So much so, that I wish to experience it (or something near to it) still again next Winter. Whether this will take place somewhere in the U.S. or at a European destination -- possibly even in the same European city -- will be decided in the months ahead.

One significant difference this coming Winter compared to last Winter will be the focus of my time and attention. It will not be a mix of relationship-building and serious writing. These two most definitely, in my opinion, are not conducive to one another. Each requires its own time and place, I think, and right now I am mostly concerned with serious writing. This time, I will apply what I learned (or, perhaps, re-learned last Winter. This time, I will adhere more to my instincts and less to my emotions.

This is not to say that being in love and serious writing cannot co-exist. In fact, I suppose I agree with Hemingway: ".... the best writing is certainly when you are in love." But, walls must in place before a roof can be constructed.

Ah, yes .... next time .... maybe next Winter. Experience is the best teacher; of that there is no doubt. So, maybe next time ....

Ah, yes .... sweet catharsis ....

Some thoughts from Henry Ford

"For thirty years I have leaned toward the theory of Reincarnation. It seems a most reasonable philosophy and explains many things. No, I have no desire to know what, or who I was once; or what, or who, I shall be in the ages to come.

"This belief in immortality makes present living the more attractive. It gives you all the time there is. You will always be able to finish what you start. There is no fever or strain in such an outlook. We are here in life for one purpose -- to get experience. We are all getting it, and we shall all use it somewhere."

Destiny awaits at the end of the maze

One final commentary (for now) regarding reincarnation or the transmigration of souls and one last photograph of the view from the place which once was my "Sanctuary / Refuge" from the unpleasantness that so often seems to follow us wherever we go. This photo was taken from the deck of the house and, of course, shows South Dakota in the foreground, the Missouri River in the distance and Nebraska across the "wide Missouri."

I know I am deathless

Part 3 of 3 (for now)

My past few commentaries originated from thoughts arising from a question posed to me on June 4: "Do you believe in souls that have met in another life .... that meet again to try to fulfill what they didn’t in the past?"

My response at the time was this: "Believe might be too strong a word, since it requires actual belief and faith in something that probably cannot be proved. But, yes, I do think this.

"Two points: First, I think I have met such a person, and have spent a considerable amount of time communicating with her and actually being with her during the past year. Next, I think I will try to write a post on this subject in more detail and see where it might lead."

Walt Whitman, the poet whose verse I cited here a few days ago, once said these words: "I know I am deathless. No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before. I laugh at what you call dissolution, and I know the amplitude of time."

While I might not have made the earthly circuit ten thousand times, I think I have come and gone this way a few times in the past. I have been considering the question posed to me, mental wandering with it, I guess is how I might describe the process, and have decided not to explore it here as thoroughly as I initially had planned.

The situation is too close, too personal yet, to write about in any detail. More time is required for me to free myself from the emotional entanglement and to view this chapter of this life in an objective manner. (Remember, I spent a number of years as a journalist, and I firmly believe that a state of objectivity can be achieved in viewing any situation, even when it personally involves the "reporter.")

That said, I will make a few general comments:

With respect to my "belief" that my soul and that of another have mingled in some manner in previous lives, I am not certain which of us broached this "feeling" first, but we both agreed that it was an actual reality and we both sensed it, felt it, understood it, believed it and accepted it as fact.

This phenomenon has only happened to me once in my life -- never before now. It involved much, much more than having common interests, and, in fact, included common dreams and sensations of being present and together although physically separated by a few thousand miles. To me, it was as though the only separation had been time itself, and a few thousand miles was the closest we had been to each other for an immeasurable length time.

When the two of us met face-to-face "this time around," I felt absolutely comfortable and at ease with her. It was like we were friends and lovers who had not seen each other for a year or two, and who were completely used to each other's presence in our lives. Every aspect of her personality and temperament was familiar to me. In a sentence, it was like I had known her throughout my entire lifetime -- or, possibly I should say, throughout my entire existence.

But, it also seemed that we had some major differences in the way we comprehend the world and view our individual roles within it. Perhaps, even irreconcilable differences, which means reaching the center of the maze together in the same instant probably is unattainable this time around. **

Time answers all questions in respect to life and living it -- or, again, possibly I should say in respect to existence then, now and the next time around. Who can say? It might well be my fate is to forever run the maze. Or, it could be I am Siddhartha, the ferryman, learning the essence of life from the river. And, when I finally have learned it, I will find myself in the center of the maze at precisely the right moment with the "One & Only Actual" -- whose name will be Destiny.

Since I am an authority on nothing, not even on myself, I will end this with the words of a man who was a recognizable authority on many things:

"My life often seemed to me like a story that has no beginning and no end. I had the feeling that I was an historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding and succeeding text was missing. I could well imagine that I might have lived in former centuries and there encountered questions I was not yet able to answer; that I had been born again because I had not fulfilled the task given to me." -- Carl Jung

** [The reference to running the maze comes from my description at the top of the page to this blog: "I learned romance might exist, but depends upon whether a man and a woman can tread the maze individually and reach its center at the same instant in time."]

Some lines from "Siddhartha"
by Herman Hesse

"He saw all these forms and faces
in a thousand relationships become newly born.
Each one was mortal, a passionate, painful example
of all that is transitory.
Yet none of them died, they only changed,
were always reborn, continually had a new face:
only time stood between one face and another."

I remember dying twice

Panning to the right from the photograph of two day's ago, this is the view from what once was my "Sanctuary / Refuge." Again, it is South Dakota in the foreground, the Missouri River in the distance and Nebraska way, way, far away. There are liberals and there are conservatives, Protestants and Catholics, baseball fans and basketball fans, but it absolutely boggles my mind how anyone can prefer the sights of man-made streets and towers and storefronts above the majesty of nature's work. Maybe, it is a matter of differences between women and men. Anyway, for now, until forever, Nature rules, in my world. Cities are there to visit, not to dwell within.

Dreams never leave you -- or do they?

Part 2 of ??

I can remember dying twice in the past.

By remember, I sort of mean I think I recall, I believe I can recall, I have faith that I do recall. Do I know? Of course not. Neither do I know that there is a Supreme Being, a God, a Deity. It is a matter of thought and faith and belief, not one of proof positive and knowledge.

In one death, I remember my chest being crushed, smashed, demolished .... I was running .... and then there was something like an axe being slammed into the middle of my chest

and stopped me dead in my tracks

and lifted me off my feet

and threw me backward.

In that instant, I knew that I was dead. The only other thing I remember about this event is that my hair was long, and that it whipped my face when my forward momentum was stopped.

In another death, I can see when and where it happened, possibly because it seems to be more recent than the previous event I described. It was, I think, on November 20, 1943, on the atoll of Tarawa on the island of Betio in the Gilbert Islands. I was in the Marine Corps, and, any number of times, I have seen and felt myself die there in a dream -- again from a chest wound, this time atop a mound of sand on the first day of the invasion. Tarawa obsesses me. Why? Perhaps this is the primary reason I joined the Marine Corps in this lifetime. Enough for now.

Beyond what seems to be the actual in terms of events "known," I had a reoccurring dream that began when I was about age twelve and continued until I was age eighteen. In that dream, I was rolling along the ground while a man who appeared to be of Oriental descent was firing a submachine gun at me. I rolled and I rolled, and the rounds being fired at me gradually were catching up to me. I always awoke just before the rounds reached me.

Some of you who have read here in the past know this story, and know that when I was eighteen I was in my first actual (not sort of, but actual) combat. You also might recall I wrote that the dream never reoccurred after that time; after the time I was in actual combat, this dream ceased to be.

Frankly, I have my doubts that anyone reads what I write other than one or two or three people. This is not very important to me, but curiosity drives me. I wish to know what others have experienced. If anyone has experienced this manner of feeling, dream, belief or event, I would like to learn about it. Tell me, if you dare .... which means, if you dare to reveal your inner self -- not just to me, but to yourself.

As for me, lose this, laugh at it, forget it, skip it. I am increasingly beginning to believe that humanity has entered an age in which living for oneself is more important than living for another. Perhaps, that is what separates today from yesterday .... and me, from many (most ??) others.

"To a Stranger" by Walt Whitman

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Neverland always has been real for me

This is not a view of Neverland, but, instead, of Once-Upon-A-Time-Land. Some of you might have seen a photograph similar to this in the past. It is the view from the yard of my former "Sanctuary / Refuge." This photo was taken Saturday. South Dakota is in the foreground, the Missouri River is in the distance and Nebraska is across the river. This place is mine no more. Such is the penalty for picking the wrong companion. But, do not fret. It has gone into a trust for the generation which follows me, so, in that way, will remain with my descendants. This is where I spent the weekend, and what follows is the initial commentary of an occasional few to follow concerning thoughts and feelings about life, love and (as threatened) the transmigration of souls.

Who wants to be age eleven forever?

Part 1 of ??

I remember as distinctly as though it happened only a few days ago. I was happy, I was running through a narrow gap between two brick, business buildings, hurrying on my way home. I thought: "It is wonderful to be eleven. What a great age to be. I wish I could stay eleven forever."

Well, I have stayed age eleven forever, in many ways, but not entirely. As recently as 2005, I returned to that very same location, between the two buildings in my hometown, just to stand there for a moment, once again, and to try to understand what it meant to be age eleven. The narrow gap was boarded up, for no other reason I can imagine than to prevent eleven-year-olds from running through it. What cruel times we live in.

At age eleven, I had discovered the adult section of the library and bought my first guns. I had a lake, and a boat to row from one side to the other, and to anchor and to swim from in the middle of the lake, where no one else could go. I was not the typical, but not the exception, either.

Most boys my age preferred baseball to books and fast cars to guns but, remember, this was small town, rural America, and there was a niche for both types (for all types, actually) and both fit in very well. The reader / gunners were outnumbered by the traditional sports types about three or four to one, but there were enough to go around on both sides.

Beyond that, it probably will not surprise you to learn that "Peter Pan" was among my favorite stories as a child, and "Finding Neverland" is among my favorite films today. (White Bear prefers this motion picture above most others, too, and we often go to sleep watching the film or listening to the soundtrack from it.)

As life moved on, I went with it. I also thought age seventeen was a very good year, one in which I would be content to spend the rest of my life. I had a steady girlfriend at that time, which probably explains why I enjoyed the year so much. Age twenty-two was great for me. I loved it, and wanted it to remain forever -- or for me to forever remain within it. It did not, and the era of the perfect ages ended for me. There has not been another year since then in which I wished to remain forever.

Was this simply youthful exuberance, or some innate instinct or knowlege -- something more complex?

Are you still with me, or have you drifted away to your own Neverland? I will be back another day to continue this ....

The beauty & the power of some words

"Entreat me not to leave thee,
or to return from following
after thee:
for whither thou goest,
I will go;
and where thou lodgest,
I will lodge:
thy people shall be my people,
and thy God my God:
Where thou diest, will I die,
and there will I be buried:
the Lord do so to me,
and more also,
if aught but death
part thee and me."

The Bible
The Old Testament
Ruth 1:16

More thoughts on writing & a brief road trip

John Kenneth Galbraith: economist and prolific writer

The myth of inspirational writing

John Kenneth Galbraith, in a piece entitled, "Writing, Typing, and Economics," wrote that aspiring writers must resist the fantasy that good writing can only be accomplished during moments of inspiration. He said:

"All writers know that on some golden mornings they are touched by the wand—are on intimate terms with poetry and cosmic truth. I have experienced those moments myself. Their lesson is simple: It's a total illusion. And the danger in the illusion is that you will wait for those moments. Such is the horror of having to face the typewriter that you will spend all your time waiting. I am persuaded that most writers, like most shoemakers, are about as good one day as the next (a point which Trollope made), hangovers apart. The difference is the result of euphoria, alcohol, or imagination. The meaning is that one had better go to his or her typewriter every morning and stay there regardless of the seeming result. It will be much the same."

Galbraith also emphasized the importance of revision. "Anyone who is not certifiably a Milton," he wrote, "had better assume that the first draft is a very primitive thing. The reason is simple: writing is difficult work."

This difficulty, he warned, is enough to drive many a writer to drink. He therefore advised against relying on alcohol as a crutch. "It is, quite literally, very sobering," he pointed out, "to reflect upon how many good American writers have been destroyed by this solace -- by the sauce. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Thomas Wolfe, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner -- the list goes on and on."

He offered a rule of thumb: "Any writer who wants to do his best against a deadline should stick to Coca-Cola. If he doesn't have a deadline, he can risk Seven-Up."

Alone again & heading for Dakota

In a few hours, I will be on the road from Minnesota to South Dakota -- alone (again), I regret to report. The trip is only for a long weekend -- one-third for business, one- third for a change of pace, one-third for visiting family.

Most certainly, there will be some trigger time. I am taking two rifles and two handguns with me. I have not done any shooting since before departure for Europe last December, and am very much overdue.

Just possibly, I will head for town on Saturday night and find some action in a cowboy bar. I am not certain what I mean by "action" right now, since there are several kinds in which to engage, but, for the faint of heart, I will suggest that you search out such an establishment and discover for yourself what manner of action suits you best.

Be back next week ....