“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

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.

Although, I hadn’t read all of Parker’s books, once I discovered Parker through his more recent works, I started picking up his earlier books when I saw them at used bookstores or garage sales, or to round out an Amazon order. Since I had most of them on hand already, news of Parker’s death prompted me to go back and start at the beginning of the Spenser series – The Godwulf Manuscript, (c) 1973. So for the past couple of months, I’ve just kept on through the entire Spenser series, in chronological order. It’s been extremely enjoyable – even rereading those I’d read quite recently.

Though each novel is written to stand alone as a crime novel, like most series in the mystery genre, a repertory of prime characters continues throughout. Apparently, the Spenser series is the most autobiographical of Parker’s works, and there’s an intimacy and authenticity in the evolution of these particular characters which shines through.

The main character, Spenser, is an intelligent, literate, ex-prizefighter, ex-cop turned private investigator – a tough, good-guy, wise-cracking thug with a big heart and who loves to cook. His long-time girlfriend, Susan Silverman, is a psychologist. The other most-constant character is Spenser’s best friend, Hawk – another ex-fighter toughie with noble intent – though Hawk’s activities and motivations often wander deeper into the realm of  illegal than his buddy Spenser’s.

As a psychology buff, I am naturally fond of Parker’s use of the dialog between Spenser and his psychologist- true-love, Susan, to effectively interject psychological elements into the resolution of each mystery. Parker often uses the same vehicle to comment on timely or newsworthy issues.

Within the gestalt of reading all of these books in rapid succession, I particularly enjoyed the dialog and evolution of the relationship between Spenser and Silverman as a reflective chronicle of the evolution of masculine and feminine stereotypes through some of the the most turbulent times of the feminist movement. As in life, there are no permanent or pat resolutions to the difficulties that surface, but, in my opinion, Parker did an excellent job showing us that the differences between men and women are as vital and important as our equalities. The Spenser-Silverman relationship flourishes because each honors the other’s individuality with compassion and a willingness to listen (plus a healthy thread of sexual intimacy).

It may have been coincidence, but repeatedly when purchasing Parker’s books, or reading them in public, I had women comment to me at how much their husbands or boyfriends liked Parker’s books. I hope this is not an accurate indicator of the ratio of Parker’s female fans. If so, it’s a shame, really. Though Robert B. Parker’s male protagonists are often violent and always extremely masculine, I perceive Parker’s message as, in many ways, strongly feminist.

Looking for Rachel Wallace, written in 1980, was a particularly pleasant surprise. I’m sure it was considered quite provocative when originally published.  The book juxtaposes Spenser’s competent, extreme masculinity against the radical feminist rhetoric of open lesbian, Rachel Wallace, who Spenser is tasked with protecting, and ultimately rescuing (using lethal violence) when she is kidnapped after firing Spenser. When thanking Spenser for the rescue, Wallace states: “You still embody much that I must continue to disparage. I still disapprove of you.”

Spenser’s reply: “Rachel, how could I respect anyone who didn’t disapprove of me?”  Rachel Wallace shows up briefly in later books as an valuable ally and friend to Spenser.

The character, Spenser, though masculine to the max, is likable, lovable and heroic – a life well-written.

Robert B. Parker’s other mysteries include the Jesse Stone series and the Sunny Randall series. I now plan to go back and read both of those series in chronological order as well. Character evolution through the progression of these series is part of the pleasure.

Robert B. Parker died of a heart-attack at the age 77, while writing at his desk – surely the most heroic kind of exit any writer would hope for.

If you are a Robert B. Parker fan (or even if you’re not), I highly recommend reading the touching, eloquent eulogy by his son, David, which was reprinted in its entirety in The Washington Post.

“By nature, we do not perceive ourselves or others accurately. We magnify the importance of ourselves and diminish that of others. In the beauty of a clear night, however, we look at the stars and feel ourselves small, unimportant, and at peace. On an objective scale, we sense our insignificance. Somehow the realization comforts us. The return of the illusion hurts us, takes our peace away, allows us to magnify slights, rejections, and humiliations as others challenge the illusion of our self-importance with theirs. It is in our human nature that this be so; it is our task to transcend it.”

- Barry Grosskopf, Hidden In Plain Sight

via psychobabble

Howard Zinn (August 24, 1922 – January 27, 2010)

Click here to view the embedded video.

More wisdom from Howard Zinn:

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”

“Nations are not communities and never have been. The history of any country, presented as the history of a family, conceals the fierce conflicts of interest (sometimes exploding, often repressed) between conquerors and conquered, masters and slaves, capitalists and workers, dominators and dominated in race and sex. And in such a world of conflict, a world of victims and executioners, it is the job of thinking people, as Albert Camus suggested, not to be on the side of the executioners.”

“How can you have a war on terrorism when war itself is terrorism?”

“If history is to be creative, to anticipate a possible future without denying the past, it should, I believe, emphasize new possibilities by disclosing those hidden episodes of the past when, even if in brief flashes, people showed their ability to resist, to join together, occasionally to win. I am supposing, or perhaps only hoping, that our future may be found in the past’s fugitive movements of compassion rather than in its solid centuries of warfare.”

Stevens Pass, October 2008

October is my favorite month. I like autumn generally and (here) October is the month that finds the perfect balance between summer and winter. Nature is quieting down, weather is revving up. Humans are settling some, too (at least temporarily) – school routines are set and efficient, holiday frenzies have not quite begun.

I always prefer quiet to frenzy. It’s part of my attraction to solitude.

October is also my birth month. Birthdays provide a day of license to celebrate ourselves  – incorporate some self-indulgence into the schedule without apology.  More importantly for me they are the annual opportunity to reflect on another trip around the sun – that pivotal personal reminder of the grand balance between the clearly temporary and seemingly eternal.

There is, apart from mere intellect, in the makeup of every superior human identity, (in its moral completeness, considered as ensemble, not for that moral alone, but for the whole being, including physique,) a wondrous something that realizes without argument, frequently without what is called education, (though I think it the goal and apex of all education deserving the name) – an intuition of the absolute balance, in time and space, of the whole of this multifarious, mad chaos of fraud, frivolity, hoggishness – this revel of fools, and incredible make-believe and general unsettledness, we call the world; a soul-sight of that divine clue and unseen thread which holds the whole congeries of things, all history and time, and all events, however trivial, however momentous, like a leashed dog in the hand of the hunter.  – Walt Whitman

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

Click here to view the embedded video.

The film is food for thought on many levels. Noland is clearly a different man after his four years of solitude.  The life he left behind has also changed – people have moved on without him, including the love of his life.

Naturally, I was most fascinated with the challenges Noland faced while on the island. Contemplating how you would fair facing similar circumstances is part of the movie’s fun. The daily challenge of survival at a subsistence level is a lot different than choosing a comfortable level of solitude with access to modern amenities.

Would you (as Chuck Noland does) anthropomorphize a volleyball for someone to talk with?  How long would it take before you decided to risk all and leave the relative, though uncomfortable, safety of the island to challenge the sea on a rickety raft?

Personally, if there was any other life on the island (birds, rodents, or even non-toxic reptiles), I’d like to think I’d try for a relationship with one of them over talking to an inanimate object.  On the other hand, you don’t want to ultimately face having to eat a creature you’ve befriended – no protein in a volleyball.

As much as I treasure solitude, surviving at a subsistence level holds little appeal for me. It would be a laborious challenge alone – not a game like we see on television’s Survivor and Lost which were both developed after Cast Away’s success.

Although I can find genuine contentment in relative simplicity, and I’m fairly certain I could do well without much human interaction, trying to survive without books might launch my raft off the island – a library or die.

Jim Snow makes it to the Memorable Hermits list for tenacity alone. You just know trouble is brewing when Snow’s first words to his future bride are ”You talk too much.” He does his best to warm to the “civilized” family he marries into, but Tasmin is continually burdened with Snow’s inclination to just walk away when the spirit strikes or the noise overwhelms him.  He rarely feels obligated to discuss his plans or forewarn her of these departures.  I think many hermits are prone to this type of spontaneous desertion. It’s a self-preservation maneuver symptomatic of waiting too long before escaping the social tumult.

Lonesome Dove fans or anyone in the mood for a good dose of escapist fiction, should read the Berrybender Narratives.  (McMurtry claims they are the end of his fictional sojourns into 19th century America.) The other three books in the series are: By Sorrow’s River (2003), The Wandering Hill (2003) and Folly & Glory (2004).

As always, McMurtry’s multiple points of view create an engrossing portrait of an unforgiving, brutal wilderness where multiple factions and cultures battle for survival. McMurtry’s bawdy humor and social commentary soften the saga capturing the reader’s empathy for a multitude of fascinating characters, some of them fictionalized versions of historical figures.

Pragmatic self-sufficiency meets clueless self-indulgence in an untamed wilderness makes for a good yarn.

Huh? Maybe the books aren’t as escapist as I remember - I think I’ve  been watching a sequel on the news lately.

I am continually impressed with the profound beauty and depth of his posts (and pages). I highly recommend his blog to anyone with a contemplative streak, with or without religious affiliation.

Whether you are true eremite (like Mike), or more of a half-time hermit (like me), I think Mike’s reflections on the value of solitude and integral practice will resonate with spiritual truth.