Other lovers of solitude might understand this. I’m quite certain there’s many a hermit out there who did not make a conscious decision to stop or limit contact with the world, but who just wandered off and didn’t wander back.

But, I admit, it really was fairly rude on my part to just drop off the end of the bloggosphere without explanation, and I do apologize to subscribers or other frequent visitors who wondered what happened.

Nothing happened.  I was not eaten by a bear. I just went about my hermit business and stopped communicating.

I think it started with the acquisition of a new computer. The transition from Windows XP to Windows 7 required a lot more time-consuming administrative manipulation than I was happy about. Until that purchase, I was actually almost ready to bite-the-bullet and get myself a smart phone. But the Windows 7 debacle turned me off. I started staying away from my computer (other than for essential business). I started questioning why on earth would I want a smart phone so I could communicate everywhere and all the time.

As I said, I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop surfing & blogging & tweeting, I just let my body make the decision for me. And my body decided to prioritize silence, serenity, peace, reading books, contemplation, meditation in nature, watching fall fall and winter close in - all with a spacious enough routine to easily adjust to nature’s rhythms – every day finding the time to partake of that other grand connectedness that has nothing to do with words and others and the internet.

I’d forgotten how much I love that disconnected connection. It’s so damned peaceful.

Griz and I are fine. We’ve learned a few new tricks – most associated with the truism that the key to healthy aging is good energy management – inward and outward. Our middle-aged cats have perfected this lesson. They spend more time napping and less time outdoors, especially in cold weather. But the length of their naps in no way diminishes the intensity of their playful moments, the lustre of their coats, or the profound depth of their melodious, loving purrs.

Tools-n-Gizmos is perking right along. It might be perking along almost too well for a two-person operation in which both persons would like to define themselves as “semi-retired.” But if Tools-n-Gizmos is any indication, our economy must be improving. People are buying the tooling with which to build things. And Griz and I are still having fun with it; and when you can combine income-generation with laughter, it doesn’t feel that much like work.

But the nicest thing about just being in timeless obscurity is this: it is remarkably angst-free. There’s a spaciousness in this quiet observation point that allows me to watch world events and reflect on them without the need to judge, take sides or necessarily even react. Even though I voted, I was able to watch all that vituperative mid-term election noise without letting it bother me (much). Even the paradigm-shifting Wikileaks-square-off between secrecy and transparency seems more like a profound natural evolution than the frightening Armageddon many try to make it. Without such dualities, how would we recognize non-duality, let alone aspire to it?

Perhaps I’ve become more mystical in my retreat into silence – or not.  I still read just as much fun fiction as philosophical prose. Most recently I entertained myself with Michael Crichton’s bawdy, swashbuckler Pirate Latitudes, then switched just as happily to Alan Watts’ profoundly beautiful (and surprisingly, often comically entertaining) The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who you Truly Are.

It’s that balance thing, you know.  Philosophy should really only evolve from a life of living, not just theorizing.  We learn about life by living it, enjoying it, making mistakes, and surviving the ups and down. We learn to transcend the drudgery of life by redefining drudgery as something else.  Realization may be nothing more than the the simple acknowledgement that the definitions are all up to each of us.

And then there’s mortality – which steps in and slaps you in the face no matter in what happy place you think you’ve landed. We just learned today that my sister’s husband died last evening – suddenly, without warning, with no serious pre-existing condition. After a wonderful, laughter-filled day with his wife of 38 years, a good dinner, and a start of the evening’s home movie, John just quietly slumped into his recliner and slipped away. The EMT’s tried hard, but John left. The gentleness of his departure in no way diminishes the trauma.

I know my sister is a strong, competent woman and she will be fine – eventually. But throughout this no-mascara day of doing what must be done, saying what must be said; the sharp grief of first notices with periodic, spontaneous eyeball leakage; and, because of our loss, absorption in a deep empathy for everyone else’s losses everywhere; I must never forget that some things don’t reside in my treasured haven of timelessness.

Total retreat from the truly human connections is rarely an option. The human connections include time, touch, communication, reporting, and responding. Time is the journey through which we travel together.  The concept of timelessness is a real stretch when the stomach feels hollowed out by the pain of a wounded heart.

Some things, like profound loss, can only be conquered through the passage of time. For those of us who loved John, this will be Day 1 of that particular passage.

Always strive to treat your loved ones as though it is their last day on earth – or your last day on earth.

The wordiness of life has been bugging me more than usual lately.

It’s been almost six weeks since I’ve written anything for this blog and I have to confess there were moments when I seriously considered abandoning the endeavor.  I’ve talked about these phases before. The unusual element this time is I abandoned other writing as well.

Initially I thought it was just my standard hermit reaction to a recent surge of activity with Tools-n-Gizmos.com, our online business. I’ve always been someone who seeks quiet in response to the noise of making-a-living – I suspect it’s a recuperative balancing act necessary for many introverts.

But business has leveled off (for some reason it always does as summer approaches), and my psyche is still predominated by a very specific contemplative thread on the value-of-quiet vs. the silliness-of-CHATTER. Even when out “conducting business” my people-watching is repeatedly drawn to others’ noisy exchanges of (to me) useless irrelevancies – a large part of many conversations it seems. Then I reflect on the potential irrelevancy (to others) of my own chatter. I apologize if this post is rapidly becoming a self-fulfilling demonstration.

Maybe it’s a life phase thing based on the over accumulation of redundant verbal experiences.  Buddy Kathy and I did one of our periodic art studio tours a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I’ve felt restlessly drawn to re-prioritize painting over writing. I am only a recreational painter and my attraction to painting has less to do with artistic inspiration and more to do with exploring  the wordless – fresh reflective ground. Quiet reflective ground.

Or perhaps it’s just that when us quiet types quiet down, we ultimately seek absolute zero. The call to and need for silence may be the basic hermit motivation. The lucky among us have arranged our lives to accommodate that need, at least periodically.  I keep coming back to Thomas Merton’s words at the end of the short video I posted about him:

“This solitude confirms my call to solitude. The more I’m in it, the more I love it. One day it will possess me entirely and no man will ever see me again.”

I’ve already discovered something by writing this much:  just as talking-about-love is not the same as love, talking-about-quiet is not the same as quiet.

I’ll keep you posted – I think.

I realize it’s been almost three weeks since I posted.  That probably shouldn’t  bother me or anyone else at this point; though I do wish I hadn’t read all those best-blogging-practices articles before I started this blog. “Three posts per week plus three comments per week on other blogs” always sticks in my mind as the best goal.

Guess we know that’s not gonna happen.

The only difference between this break and others is: I didn’t preplan it – I just let it happen – or not happen.

What can I say:

Spring arrived unexpectedly in January this year so I’ve been outside more – landscape tending and just enjoying.

Been mulling a new book project.

Been indulging in a little traditional January evaluation of my life’s principal elements.

Deep? Nah – more  like deep’s opposite this time:  just being without discussion.

I’ve continued along on Twitter. Follow me there if you’re prone to dire imaginings when I don’t check in.  But other than Griz and the cats, I think I’ve gotten most friends and family trained to tolerate my periodic vanishings.  Haven’t I?

Even Griz and I have mutual consent for periodic unavailability.  And the cats – well, cats are innately autonomous.* I sometimes think their dependency is primarily my perception.

Interestingly, I do value connection and I have learned the blogosphere is about as comfy a connection as you’ll find for us hermits.  On the other hand, I tend to resist obligation (fabricated or otherwise); hence my discomfort with regular posting.

I know resistance to obligation is considered a form of pathology by some.  But these days most nonconformities are considered pathological by someone; and I think acknowledging, accepting and balancing one’s insanities is the key to good mental health for most of us.  So wacko or not, my little problem with obligation is not one of my life’s principal elements I plan to change anytime soon. It’s a part of why I value solitude – I can indulge it without bothering others most of the time.

After all, this is a blog from a hermit.

According to Lao Tzu: “A good traveller has no fixed plan & is not intent on arriving.”

I’ll be back soon.

*ASIDE FOR CAT LOVERS: I was always a dog person in the past. Our two semi-feral cats, Dodge (mother) and Dart (son) are the first cats with whom I’ve cohabited since my childhood.  Now that I’ve become enamored of cats and started to pay attention, I realize defining cats as aloof and autonomous is a generalization.  Cat personalities are as individualistic as human.

When I leave home for 24 hours or more, Dart, our wilder and more routinely-autonomous cat, celebrates my return with unabashed enthusiasm (very similar to the way dogs typically react).  Dodge, the more “civilized” and astutely manipulative cat (some socialization as a kitten), greets my return with initial disdain. She then combines deep purring with intermittent growls and feigned nipping – clearly expressing her pleasure over my return, but simultaneously demonstrating her disapproval of my recent, offensive desertion.

]]> http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/19/blogopause-with-aside-of-cat-blogging/feed/ 2 http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/01/a-ramble-on-lifes-soundtracks-old-music-new/ http://blogfromahermit.com/2010/01/01/a-ramble-on-lifes-soundtracks-old-music-new/#comments Sat, 02 Jan 2010 05:24:43 +0000 Trish http://blogfromahermit.com/?p=3028 Donna Woodka recently posted this video and the associated lyrics (following) on her Changing Places blog with one of her wonderful theme posts entitled Searching.

Click here to view the embedded video.

As my life goes on I believe
Somehow something’s changed
Something deep inside
Ooh a part of me

There’s a strange new light in my eyes
Things I’ve never known
Changin’ my life
Changin’ me

I’ve been searchin’
So long
To find an answer
Now I know my life has meaning

Now I see myself as I am
Feeling very free
Life is everything
Ooh it’s meant to be
When my tears have come to an end
I will understand
What I left behind
Part of me…

As usual, Donna’s post was good thought-food, though for some reason I wound up thinking more about the music than about searching.  (Well, I did spend some time reflecting on what I might have been searching for in 1974 [the year Chicago released Searching So Long] and whether I found it or ultimately abandoned the quest.)  But the music from her post lingered. Part of the fun of looking back at the music is noticing how perspective gives the lyrics refreshing new meaning.

I wound up wondering at what point the music of our childhood (often our parents’ music) transitions to our own music and not theirs. For some of us, it’s that intentionally cultivated point where our preferred music alienates our parents, but that’s not always true. The methods for teenagers to alienate their parents are many and sundry – and always have been. Music may or may not be involved.

But if you’re a music person (even just an appreciator, like me), important memories always wind up tied to whatever music surrounds you at the time of any life passage, phase or event. Ever after, that music stimulates the memories of the associated events and vice versa. I suppose that’s not so great for those who hang on to the lousy memories – and there is some music which stimulates sad memories for me. But I don’t dwell on the sadness when I hear the music. I just reflect on the lessons learned or losses endured and charge onward to a different soundtrack (or playlist) to snap myself out of the maudlin if I get stuck there.

Of course, like other memories of youth, the music of youth often seems more vivid and lasting than some of the later additions. Psychologically, this has more to do with the youthful memories (and music) falling on a fresh canvas than it does (as some youngsters think) with the terminally declining mental acuity of us oldsters. Yes, there is such a thing as age-related memory loss – but not everyone over 40 is trapped in a downward spiral into dementia. In youth, many things, including music, are hooked into memory as extremely relevant because of their newness. Ultimately, experience diminishes the novelty factor and memories in later life are stored in a very crowded filing system. As we mature, we also get significantly more efficient at forgetting (intentionally or subconsciously) the irrelevant. And our definition of relevant changes dramatically – or should.

But I think it’s important not to get stuck only with the music of our younger years. I continue to allow new music to seep into my life. Since I don’t really have any other handy sources and I don’t spend very much online time listening to music, I frequently listen to fm radio while driving as a method of familiarizing myself with new music and younger artists. This gets me 5+ hours per week of serendipitous music discovery. Though listening to radio may itself be an archaic and outdated (hopefully, not dying) method, when I find something I like, I do have an iPod for downloading it.

Of course, whether a song is on the top 40 (if that still exists per se), which artists are dating each other, and what any of them are wearing is totally irrelevant to me.  But I never was into that aspect of the music scene. And I admit, I’ve never developed a true appreciation of rap. But as a writer, I’ve long appreciated lyrics, and rap has significantly improved the lyrics of all genres. There’s as much talent out there as ever.

The old music is important and meaningful, but I think it’s also important not to get stuck with only your old tunes. Like other retreats we inadvertently wander into as we age – closing the door on the new limits our perspective, our opportunities, and our readiness to keep up the search – and therein may be the passage from mature to just plain old.

Then I woke up.

But I know what prompted the dream: yet another hermit researcher found this blog and hoped for an interview with a “contemporary hermit” including a visit to “the hermitage.” I suppose that’s what I get for being a peculiar being.

After the first request, I expanded my About page in hopes of disqualifying me from any further research. But it turns out one big attraction to many current researchers is how the internet has improved the lot of us hermit-types, allowing us access to the world with only a minimal amount of live interaction required. (Which is true for everyone, not just hermits – so, duh?)  But apparently the new About page (which includes a reference to our online business) only exacerbated the researchers’ curiosity, even though I was trying to clarify the fact that although I value solitude, I’M MORE OF A HERMIT WANNABE than a real hermit.

So, theoretically, the internet is creating more hermits per capita. Therefore, my participation shouldn’t be necessary for the research, anyway. Right? But, according to one student, many [smart] hermits who are active online use pseudonyms, and are thus more difficult to track down. I thought about using a pseudonym before I started this blog and probably would have were it not for the admonitions of my blogging coach, Steve Mays. And I’m not really trying to hide – I just prefer not to be found. There is a difference and it’s a difference which I felt (at least initially) justified using my real name.

Generally, these student requests do give Griz and me a good chuckle though. After all, successful hermit research has got to be a bit difficult (if not downright risky) for obvious reasons: notoriety and company are anathema to the motivation and lifestyle of most hermits.  But even though I appreciate the humor of these contacts, my gut reaction still leans toward using the queries as an excuse to delete this blog and retreat from blogging all together.  Anyone who follows this blog  knows I often hang in by a fragile thread.

Actually, I am not opposed to answering students’ questions via e-mail, provided the researcher volunteers some verifiable references about who they are. But requests for a live interview and visit feel a bit presumptive and invasive given any hermit’s preference for privacy and solitude. To quote myself from an earlier post:

“Hermits (like sasquatches) are also unlikely to aggregate in quantifiable numbers near universities, so valid hermit research becomes even more problematic. I have no doubt one could recruit a few rugged grad students to scour the hills for rumors of hermitages. But even if the grad students find the hermits – how happy do you think the hermits will be about it? (See my post on curmudgeonly misanthropes here). I assure you even the happiest hermit can put on an unhappy face in defense of his privacy.)”

Fortunately, Griz and I have a locking gate, a good security system and (WARNING, WARNING) are well-armed and firearm proficient. We aren’t hunters and we’re actually more pacifists than big gun advocates, but we are practical. Calling 911 is one thing, expecting a timely response out here is something else entirely. The fire power is a solitude and self-sufficiency thing.

Maybe I’ll create a FAQs page here to help out the students. I am a big fan of higher education, though admittedly some avenues of “research” (and research grants) leave me metagrobolized.

And until we find a trap baited with a good bottle of riesling, chocolate and a cheese plate – or we notice someone constructing a blind with telephoto lens along the property line, I guess we don’t have too much to worry about.

Of course, we still have the cell phones. As a female who logs a fair number of rural highway miles alone, I’m particularly fond of the safety aspect. But we don’t often give out our mobile numbers; and in spite of our overall high-tech-ness, we are consistently resistant to smart phones and texting. We have the services available, but we prize our disconnectedness too much to bother.  After all, the more avenues with which you connect to others, the more avenues with which they connect right back. It always comes back to that solitude thing.

Griz and I use our cell phones most frequently to talk with each other – not only when we’re miles apart, but for pings from opposite ends of the property. As I’ve said before, we allow each other a great deal of alone time, even when we’re in relative proximity.

Other programmed numbers are almost exclusively close friends and family. At night, I set my cell phone to vibrate and place it beside the bed. If there’s a loved-one emergency, that’s the number they’ll use. I’m a high-quality, but fairly light sleeper. I hear the vibration – more than that is just too jarring.

But every so often, especially after a flourish of social activity and demands (like this August into September), I go through a phase of unconsciously leaving my cell phone by the bed throughout the day. This week I’ve missed several important (though not time-critical) calls as a result of this unconscious, don’t-call-me behavior. If you’re a person that values or needs solitude, you probably understand this. If you’re one of those never-misses-anything, well-connected types, such an oversight probably seems totally irresponsible.

Us hermits find ways to keep the cord cut. Our internal peace is dependent on it. If for some reason we’re not circumstantially allowed our ration of solitude – we find ways, consciously or unconsciously, to get it back. When we crave our solitude, we forget our cell phones, we “accidentally” leave the land line off the hook, we cancel appointments, miss meetings, and we just don’t show up for that party we said we “definitely” wouldn’t miss. Our friends learn tolerance.

I always know when I’ve deprived myself of my allotment of solitude:  there’s my cell phone, sleeping-in at bedside, vibrating away to itself.

I apologize for my extended blogging absence.  I thought I’d get back to blogging with more zeal once the August frenzy subsided. But the frenzy was more intense than anticipated and it actually extended into the first of week of September. I’m recovering now. With the cell phone sleeping in, we’ve had a very quiet week. I’ve reconnected with my trees and my Self.  I’ll try to be a better blogger.

But I’m not really a newbie. Computers have always been a part of my work life. We’ve had personal computers in our household (and household budget) for almost 30 years. Griz’ professional life as an electronics and software engineer was the original motivation; but with the tools available, I was a user from the beginning. (Remember DOS?)

But admittedly, Griz is the computer geek at our house. I am a geek lover, geek observer, geek appreciator and sometimes geek user (don’t go there). Griz and I now run a small online business together (Tools-n-Gizmos.com) which combines our compatible computer skills with Griz’ passion for all things tool.

But to me, computers are essentially just that: tools – nothing more. I don’t really have a passion for tools. If the hardware and software are serving my current needs, I’m content. I never lust after the latest, greatest, fastest. The latest, greatest and fastest are, afterall, available next year – perfected and less expensive. I have never been cutting-edge oriented – about computers or anything else really.

I upgrade when I want, in response to whim or need, but I’ve never considered learning new software or adjusting to new hardware a variety of “fun.” It’s just an acceptable part of the process – like trimming your toenails.

But even with a resident geek in the household, I don’t remember ANY computer change – EVER – going as planned. There’s ALWAYS a little OUCH factor somewhere in even the simple adjustments. This last week, with an untimely combination of personal and business computer glitches, I seriously considered the possibility that most computer professions are actually masochistic – based on an eternal cycle of voluntarily-inflicted and subsequently-resolved pain.

I retreated from that extreme as this week’s -isms began to wane. Now I’m back to this: Computer life  is an accurate, unceasing metaphor for life in general.  It’s the Tao all over again.

Consider the slippery slope of a change or upgrade:

YOU START WITH:
What you think you have,
What you think you know,

And for the unwise, what you think you are relative to those.

Add a little wisdom and you realize all of the above are merely your subjective opinions, but, I digress…

SO (wise or unwise):
You decide to make a change, however minor or grandiose.

NOW YOU HAVE:
What you think you have,
What you think you know,
What you want to happen,

SO:
You do some research.

THROW INTO THE MIX
What you’ve been told will happen (expert advice or marketing “truths“)
What you think you’ve been told will happen (the advice and marketing filtered by your subjective receptivity and interpretation of the information).

AND YOU WIND UP WITH:
What you EXPECT to happen.

So you make a CHOICE to invest your time or money or both in pursuit of those hazard-prone EXPECTATIONS.

Drumroll…………………………

And then you have – ta-da:
WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENS…

…which invariably does not go as smoothly as you’d hoped or expected; takes at least twice as much time to complete or resolve; develops a life of its own which changes other things you never thought would be impacted; and ultimately alters much of what you thought you knew about what you know, what you have, and what you want.

So, if you’re wise, – you learn to enjoy the process – The Tao, the way, the moment – the joy of the journey. Don’t hold out for the ultimate objective – you may never quite get there. The journey may not always be fun, but it rarely needs to be a struggle either.

Which, of course, must be why many of the computer geeks I know are so mellow, philosophical and spiritually enlightened.   (Possibly a facetious remark.)

As part of my ongoing blogging education, I’ve moved Blog from a Hermit Dot Com from WordPress.com (hosted by WordPress) to WordPress.org (independently hosted). It’s one of those “simple” computer maneuvers which has turned out a bit more complicated and time-consuming than I expected.

My apologies if you happen upon any of the broken links or other glitches before I get them repaired. I appreciate your tolerance. Your comments and suggestions are welcome.

My mantra for today:

I always remember, I have everything I need to enjoy my here and now – unless I am letting my consciousness be dominated by demands and expectations based on the dead past or the imagined future. - Ken Keyes,  Handbook to Higher Consciousness

…the hermit needs a break – again.

In reality I’ll probably only get about a week of solitude out of the deal. Summer typically brings a more active social schedule to our household – living, breathing interaction, not just the virtual kind. This year, August’s comings and goings will stretch our hermitic limits.  What quiet time I find, I’ll be savoring without report.

I hope my loyal friends will take no offense.  Just in case you hadn’t noticed yet – it’s the nature of the beast.

See you in September.

We live on a slope of soil over glacial till – an endless supply of  rocks. More rocks surface each year through erosion, gentle flow or slump.  I’m a subtle collector -  a rock or two a month, but I wind up with rock piles over time.  I made myself an Easter basket today - rocks over moss: 

Why do I do this? It’s one of those harmless “you-like-what-you-like” behaviors – analysis may diminish the experience.  But here are the keyword themes motivating my rock love:  beauty, creation, endurance, eternity, stillness.

To spare you from boredom, future rock blogging will always have the word “rock” in the title.  Even I’m often surprised at how easily I can be entertained.