We have this book in class called Reading Explorer. I'm starting to get reminded of just how long I've been at my job because last week we finished all the readings in the book, and now we're back to #1. I remember it well, because I taught it my first week of class.
The first entry is titled "A Writer's Journey" and then the subheading is "The Poet's Trail." It's a three page reading about the 17th century Japanese poet Basho. He went on a long journey through Japan by foot, and wrote a book about it called The Narrow Road. It is considered a "timeless spiritual map." He details his trip, uses humor, makes philosophical musings, states religious ideas, wonders at nature and complains too. They said that at the beginning of his journey he was chubby, and by the end of it he was "thin and tired" but "filled with joy and knowledge."
Flashback:
One year ago I was on a narrow trail in Yellowstone National Park, walking a 12 mile path to a campsite along Heart Lake. This journey had not been intentional at all. That is, my journey across America was intentional, and hiking somewhere in Yellowstone was intentional, but the journey to Heart Lake was not of my choosing. I got to say yes or no, but it wasn't my idea.
The thing was, I had been traveling around down in Utah when I met these two girls from Oakland who liked my canoe. I got their numbers pretty quickly and then went on my way. A few minutes after I gave up hiking Angel's Landing in Zion I got two texts: one from a great friend quoting The Simpsons, and another from the girls' calling me "Traveling Man" and telling me to get my butt up to Yellowstone. That was the plan anyway, so I drove ten hours up to Wyoming the day before I turned 28. The next day I had to drive over a steep scary section of the Grand Tetons to get to Jackson, Wyoming, but then it was smooth sailing.
That's when I decided to buy a few books for my journey. After all, I was born on Jackson Street, and now I was in the town of Jackson on my birthday, and I was a writer on the poet's trail, so why not give myself a few books to celebrate being alive? That's how I picked up Paulo Coehlo's The Pilgrimage, George Bernard Shaw's Man and Superman, Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods and Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn. They were all very true, and they were all missing out on amazing truths. Paulo's book was about a poetic religious journey filled with magic, omens, persistence, courage and wonder. George's play was a 19th century British comedy about how women don't like men who worship them, and really only want the badass guys who don't want to settle down and remain free at all costs. And then of course they end up yielding to the woman's charms and "surrendering" eventually anyway. He's right and he's wrong. There are many love songs. Bill Bryson's book was about his attempt to hike the entire Appalachian Trail in the eastern US, and had a not-so-comforting picture of an enormous black bear on the cover. And Miller... well, that was something special. I was only interested in reading him because he had come heavily recommended by one of my roommates in Japan, and he was well regarded as one of the greatest twentieth century writers. He lived abroad and traveled a lot, supposedly.
After buying those books I made it to the girls' campsite right before dusk. It was a little eery because one of them was scraping the skull of some small rodent for her bone collection and wouldn't look up the first few minutes I was there. But then we had dinner together, got to know each other and looked at the stars above the lake. The next morning we hiked a mountain together. After that they had a plan to move on, but their RV wouldn't start the next morning. So while they waited for it to be fixed, I took them out on Yellowstone Lake in my canoe, and they weren't so unhappy about the RV troubles anymore. Then again, they kind of messed with my joy ride when they got engaged in a serious argument about whether or not you should shoot a polar bear or a hobo if given the chance. Besides that they were cool. That night we had a campfire with some of our camping neighbors, but their RV had been fixed by then. They left the next morning, and wished me luck with the bears. I was finally free to go explore the wilderness camping experience on my own. I enjoyed the company, but there's nothing quite like being young, brave and free.
This was a milestone for me because I had never camped in an area where there were grizzly bears before. Grizzly bears are the nastiest monsters in the United States. That is, besides humans. If you come face to face with a grizzly bear on the trail and they don't like something about you, feel threatened, or worse, you're near their cub, then you're done. It's over. They run faster, they're stronger, and their paws and teeth would mangle you in seconds. Luckily, they mostly mind their own business. Even so, you can never be sure, and they strongly advise you against hiking alone because you're an easier target and less intimidating, or hiking at night, because that's when the grizzly bears mostly come out.
My first hike fittingly began at Inspiration waterfall at Artist Point, where I hiked a simple two miles to Ribbon Lake, although just before dusk because I like hiking before, during and after sunset. I stayed there for two nights, but it was close enough so that I could go back to my car and explore the park during the second day, since it wasn't a very exciting campsite. During that time I returned to the back country office to find a more serious endeavor. That's when the man told me about Heart Lake. The only catch was that it was a Grizzly Bear Management Area. That didn't mean there were any guarantees of contact with bears, but if it was likely to happen anywhere, it was there. So I shrugged and said okay, got my permit and went on my way.
Of course I got a late start the next morning because I had to hike two miles out of my campsite, and then I decided I really did need to do some laundry before going back into the wilderness for two more nights, and then the driving to get to the trail head, and the last minute packing. Because I had different clothing for different temperatures and the possibility of rain, plus several days of food and water, I ended up carrying my big bag on my back and my normal bag on my front, with a water cooler in one hand and a walking stick in the other. Overall the baggage must have been around 80 lbs., not counting the water. It was all very heavy, and I had never hiked that far or with that much weight before, or with that many grizzly bears around (in theory). I didn't even get started until 2:30.
By the time I reached Heart Lake, the sun was already setting behind a nearby mountain, and I still had four miles to go. It was then that I met a park ranger and some young trainee disciples of his, and they were astounded by how much weight I was carrying, that I was alone and that I still had a ways to go. But they wished me well and said that at least the remaining miles were mostly flat. But they were also through the woods, where anything could be concealed. Somewhere in there was an hour of dusk, and then an hour of darkness. But I had a headlamp and a bamboo stick to make noise by smacking it against just about everything I passed, and a loud voice to yell, "HEY BEAR!" so they knew that I was coming and that they should either applaud, let alone or fear my presence, depending on what type of bear they were. Just because they are all grizzly bears doesn't mean they're going to treat you in the same way or want the same thing from you or this forest. And even the same bear might want different things throughout the same day. In any case, I had bear mace if it turned out they were one of those types of bears. Even so, I'd never been in that situation before, and I didn't really want to find out what it was like.
There was never a feeling of panic, but there was concern by the time it had gotten completely dark and I wasn't quite sure if I was near the campsite or not, or if I had missed the sign or not. All I could do was walk faster and yell, "Hey Bear!" louder and more frequently.
Luckily I made it to my site sometime after 10 pm, and was able to set up my tent and fall asleep, completely and utterly exhausted. That's another reason I brought so many clothes: my current clothes were completely soaked with sweat. It was July after all. Meanwhile, the moon continued to smile brightly above Heart Lake.
_________________________
Eight years ago, on this day, I was having an enormous party with many friends to belatedly celebrate my 21st birthday. I saw many college friends I hadn't seen since I went to New Zealand, many friends from Cambridge, and my great friend from the Long Island days. Even two of my American friends that I met in New Zealand made the trip.
It was strange though, because my grandfather was on his death bed in our house. He had just returned from the hospital after suffering with pneumonia for several weeks at the age of 94. We knew he might go any hour. So I moved back and forth between raucous volleyball games, greeting late arrivals I hadn't seen in half a year, and hugging my Alzheimer's-suffering grandmother after she had just said her final good bye to her husband of sixty years. She was evidently shaken and upset about something monumental, but you could tell she wasn't quite sure what it was or how to convey it. But she knew it was very important, and she wanted me to know that I had a lot of work to do now.
Then all of my friends went up to the campfire on the hill to begin the real festivities, while I hung back to help out for a little while. My grandfather needed to be turned in his bed, so my mother called me in to help flip him over. I remember his eyes. They were so wide. You could tell that this man who had worked his butt off well into his 80s didn't like the idea of needing to be turned over by his grandson. But I think he also appreciated it. I said my good bye to that great man who built a foundation for my family and played a part in me being me beyond my understanding. Then I walked into the hot summer night, through the woods in the dark, up to the campfire with my friends. My grandfather is Irish, so he would understand that the festivities had to continue. My mom says she later opened the window when everyone belted out "Happy Birthday" to me on the hill, and that my grandfather was able to hear them sing to his only grandson. Meanwhile, his only granddaughter was meeting her future husband that very night in Berlin.
The next morning "Papa" died. The rest of us who were still in the journey ate pancakes and pretended not think about that kind of thing. We passed around a ball, told stories, laughed, made fun of the fact that this was going on and we were all so hazy from the party.
It was a sunny, warm and beautiful day.
__________________________
Today I taught my students about the Poet's Trail. Then I reviewed Joseph Campbell's "Hero Journey" and "following your bliss" as simply as possible, before moving to the grand finale, Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn.
Henry Miller is a strange, brilliant and confusing character. He's incredibly intelligent, knowledgeable, poetic, passionate, energetic and mind-blowing with his command of the language. I often found myself identifying with his experiences, his observations on life and his intense passion for movement, whether it was emotional, physical or intellectual. Poetry in action, yet all over the place. Also, before you read, you must know that he's also a horny jerk, and sometimes he doesn't really care about anybody at all because he's so caught up in all the chaos (especially NYC in the 1920s). I mean, every guy is a horny jerk at some point in their life, but this guy really had some kind of syndrome. I'm sure he made a lot of it up for humor or bragging, but the book is mostly based on his true experiences.
I read the class a section from the book where he tells a woman he's going on a journey to California, when really all he wants to do is be with her, but he walks away anyway and goes through with his plan. Then he realizes just how unfathomably alone he is, how horrible the world truly is, and how disconnected from humanity he has become. He feels hopeless, desperate and insane, as if there is no reality anywhere in this world where he would belong.
But then, somehow, most likely by letting it all out, his mood reverses and he becomes completely blissful and happy. He loves everyone in the world, and says just about the most poetic things I've ever heard in my life.
"I am at home everywhere."
"I love everyone in the world. I know that somewhere at this very moment there is a woman waiting for me and if only I proceed very calmly, very gently, very slowly, I will come to her."
"The world is a map of our love."
We ended class with a word game. After all, it is only an English as a foreign language class. I love my class very much. They're all wonderful people and I have learned so much from them, but I know that in the long run I have to apply myself toward something more sophisticated and challenging within the field of my bliss.
As I walked home along the street, I was still immersed in Miller's words. Even though I bought the book a year ago, I didn't finish it until December. That's because I had gotten into the other books, I was still on the road and hiking and hanging out with new people a lot, and then I worked harvest constantly after that. On top of that, Tropic of Capricorn doesn't really have a plot, and he starts out as a pretty mean narrator, so I wasn't really into it. He was complaining about New York City and I was feeling ecstatic in Montana, so I didn't want to listen to him. But I got back into it when I moved to my first independent American place to be in over three years, and I'm ecstatic that I did.
His book was a much-needed call to arms at the completion of the move, because all I wanted was to rest after a long journey and inexplicably hard physical labor. I finally had a bed and walls around me, and it was winter, and I was in a new city, and all I had energy to do was read, occasionally meet people through my temporary roommates, eat, sleep and explore the city. But Miller was there at the right time to remind me that I was still on "The Writer's Journey."
Sometimes, when I read the following passage, I imagine that it's not Miller's friend who is coaching me so passionately. Instead I imagine that it is a woman from Heart Lake. I don't know if there is the woman from Heart Lake, but like most humans, I feel that even if there are several or many, either past or future, eventually, on the whole, there is one romance that outshines all the rest. I don't care if such a sentimental sentence disqualifies me from women who prefer men who treat them terribly. They can always go enjoy being constantly disrespected by some man who doesn't even care about them.
Right now I'm on my own and somewhat free to be whatever I want to be. I don't want to tell anyone what to do, do you? I mean, I'm here to help you, and if I care about you then I care about you and you know I'm going to help you, but beyond whatever flow we find together, what else should I do? In the moments that truly matter, the strongest, deepest, clearest and happiest ones, I feel from deep within me an intense truth that if there is a destiny, and if she really is the kind of person who would enjoy being with me, then I imagine she's hoping for me to be the best I can be. And because of my choice of trails through the "one poem", that means I have to keep moving forward on the writer's journey. That's why when I read these words, I imagine she's talking to me:
The first entry is titled "A Writer's Journey" and then the subheading is "The Poet's Trail." It's a three page reading about the 17th century Japanese poet Basho. He went on a long journey through Japan by foot, and wrote a book about it called The Narrow Road. It is considered a "timeless spiritual map." He details his trip, uses humor, makes philosophical musings, states religious ideas, wonders at nature and complains too. They said that at the beginning of his journey he was chubby, and by the end of it he was "thin and tired" but "filled with joy and knowledge."
Flashback:
One year ago I was on a narrow trail in Yellowstone National Park, walking a 12 mile path to a campsite along Heart Lake. This journey had not been intentional at all. That is, my journey across America was intentional, and hiking somewhere in Yellowstone was intentional, but the journey to Heart Lake was not of my choosing. I got to say yes or no, but it wasn't my idea.
The thing was, I had been traveling around down in Utah when I met these two girls from Oakland who liked my canoe. I got their numbers pretty quickly and then went on my way. A few minutes after I gave up hiking Angel's Landing in Zion I got two texts: one from a great friend quoting The Simpsons, and another from the girls' calling me "Traveling Man" and telling me to get my butt up to Yellowstone. That was the plan anyway, so I drove ten hours up to Wyoming the day before I turned 28. The next day I had to drive over a steep scary section of the Grand Tetons to get to Jackson, Wyoming, but then it was smooth sailing.
That's when I decided to buy a few books for my journey. After all, I was born on Jackson Street, and now I was in the town of Jackson on my birthday, and I was a writer on the poet's trail, so why not give myself a few books to celebrate being alive? That's how I picked up Paulo Coehlo's The Pilgrimage, George Bernard Shaw's Man and Superman, Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods and Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn. They were all very true, and they were all missing out on amazing truths. Paulo's book was about a poetic religious journey filled with magic, omens, persistence, courage and wonder. George's play was a 19th century British comedy about how women don't like men who worship them, and really only want the badass guys who don't want to settle down and remain free at all costs. And then of course they end up yielding to the woman's charms and "surrendering" eventually anyway. He's right and he's wrong. There are many love songs. Bill Bryson's book was about his attempt to hike the entire Appalachian Trail in the eastern US, and had a not-so-comforting picture of an enormous black bear on the cover. And Miller... well, that was something special. I was only interested in reading him because he had come heavily recommended by one of my roommates in Japan, and he was well regarded as one of the greatest twentieth century writers. He lived abroad and traveled a lot, supposedly.
After buying those books I made it to the girls' campsite right before dusk. It was a little eery because one of them was scraping the skull of some small rodent for her bone collection and wouldn't look up the first few minutes I was there. But then we had dinner together, got to know each other and looked at the stars above the lake. The next morning we hiked a mountain together. After that they had a plan to move on, but their RV wouldn't start the next morning. So while they waited for it to be fixed, I took them out on Yellowstone Lake in my canoe, and they weren't so unhappy about the RV troubles anymore. Then again, they kind of messed with my joy ride when they got engaged in a serious argument about whether or not you should shoot a polar bear or a hobo if given the chance. Besides that they were cool. That night we had a campfire with some of our camping neighbors, but their RV had been fixed by then. They left the next morning, and wished me luck with the bears. I was finally free to go explore the wilderness camping experience on my own. I enjoyed the company, but there's nothing quite like being young, brave and free.
This was a milestone for me because I had never camped in an area where there were grizzly bears before. Grizzly bears are the nastiest monsters in the United States. That is, besides humans. If you come face to face with a grizzly bear on the trail and they don't like something about you, feel threatened, or worse, you're near their cub, then you're done. It's over. They run faster, they're stronger, and their paws and teeth would mangle you in seconds. Luckily, they mostly mind their own business. Even so, you can never be sure, and they strongly advise you against hiking alone because you're an easier target and less intimidating, or hiking at night, because that's when the grizzly bears mostly come out.
My first hike fittingly began at Inspiration waterfall at Artist Point, where I hiked a simple two miles to Ribbon Lake, although just before dusk because I like hiking before, during and after sunset. I stayed there for two nights, but it was close enough so that I could go back to my car and explore the park during the second day, since it wasn't a very exciting campsite. During that time I returned to the back country office to find a more serious endeavor. That's when the man told me about Heart Lake. The only catch was that it was a Grizzly Bear Management Area. That didn't mean there were any guarantees of contact with bears, but if it was likely to happen anywhere, it was there. So I shrugged and said okay, got my permit and went on my way.
Of course I got a late start the next morning because I had to hike two miles out of my campsite, and then I decided I really did need to do some laundry before going back into the wilderness for two more nights, and then the driving to get to the trail head, and the last minute packing. Because I had different clothing for different temperatures and the possibility of rain, plus several days of food and water, I ended up carrying my big bag on my back and my normal bag on my front, with a water cooler in one hand and a walking stick in the other. Overall the baggage must have been around 80 lbs., not counting the water. It was all very heavy, and I had never hiked that far or with that much weight before, or with that many grizzly bears around (in theory). I didn't even get started until 2:30.
By the time I reached Heart Lake, the sun was already setting behind a nearby mountain, and I still had four miles to go. It was then that I met a park ranger and some young trainee disciples of his, and they were astounded by how much weight I was carrying, that I was alone and that I still had a ways to go. But they wished me well and said that at least the remaining miles were mostly flat. But they were also through the woods, where anything could be concealed. Somewhere in there was an hour of dusk, and then an hour of darkness. But I had a headlamp and a bamboo stick to make noise by smacking it against just about everything I passed, and a loud voice to yell, "HEY BEAR!" so they knew that I was coming and that they should either applaud, let alone or fear my presence, depending on what type of bear they were. Just because they are all grizzly bears doesn't mean they're going to treat you in the same way or want the same thing from you or this forest. And even the same bear might want different things throughout the same day. In any case, I had bear mace if it turned out they were one of those types of bears. Even so, I'd never been in that situation before, and I didn't really want to find out what it was like.
There was never a feeling of panic, but there was concern by the time it had gotten completely dark and I wasn't quite sure if I was near the campsite or not, or if I had missed the sign or not. All I could do was walk faster and yell, "Hey Bear!" louder and more frequently.
Luckily I made it to my site sometime after 10 pm, and was able to set up my tent and fall asleep, completely and utterly exhausted. That's another reason I brought so many clothes: my current clothes were completely soaked with sweat. It was July after all. Meanwhile, the moon continued to smile brightly above Heart Lake.
_________________________
Eight years ago, on this day, I was having an enormous party with many friends to belatedly celebrate my 21st birthday. I saw many college friends I hadn't seen since I went to New Zealand, many friends from Cambridge, and my great friend from the Long Island days. Even two of my American friends that I met in New Zealand made the trip.
It was strange though, because my grandfather was on his death bed in our house. He had just returned from the hospital after suffering with pneumonia for several weeks at the age of 94. We knew he might go any hour. So I moved back and forth between raucous volleyball games, greeting late arrivals I hadn't seen in half a year, and hugging my Alzheimer's-suffering grandmother after she had just said her final good bye to her husband of sixty years. She was evidently shaken and upset about something monumental, but you could tell she wasn't quite sure what it was or how to convey it. But she knew it was very important, and she wanted me to know that I had a lot of work to do now.
Then all of my friends went up to the campfire on the hill to begin the real festivities, while I hung back to help out for a little while. My grandfather needed to be turned in his bed, so my mother called me in to help flip him over. I remember his eyes. They were so wide. You could tell that this man who had worked his butt off well into his 80s didn't like the idea of needing to be turned over by his grandson. But I think he also appreciated it. I said my good bye to that great man who built a foundation for my family and played a part in me being me beyond my understanding. Then I walked into the hot summer night, through the woods in the dark, up to the campfire with my friends. My grandfather is Irish, so he would understand that the festivities had to continue. My mom says she later opened the window when everyone belted out "Happy Birthday" to me on the hill, and that my grandfather was able to hear them sing to his only grandson. Meanwhile, his only granddaughter was meeting her future husband that very night in Berlin.
The next morning "Papa" died. The rest of us who were still in the journey ate pancakes and pretended not think about that kind of thing. We passed around a ball, told stories, laughed, made fun of the fact that this was going on and we were all so hazy from the party.
It was a sunny, warm and beautiful day.
__________________________
Today I taught my students about the Poet's Trail. Then I reviewed Joseph Campbell's "Hero Journey" and "following your bliss" as simply as possible, before moving to the grand finale, Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn.
Henry Miller is a strange, brilliant and confusing character. He's incredibly intelligent, knowledgeable, poetic, passionate, energetic and mind-blowing with his command of the language. I often found myself identifying with his experiences, his observations on life and his intense passion for movement, whether it was emotional, physical or intellectual. Poetry in action, yet all over the place. Also, before you read, you must know that he's also a horny jerk, and sometimes he doesn't really care about anybody at all because he's so caught up in all the chaos (especially NYC in the 1920s). I mean, every guy is a horny jerk at some point in their life, but this guy really had some kind of syndrome. I'm sure he made a lot of it up for humor or bragging, but the book is mostly based on his true experiences.
I read the class a section from the book where he tells a woman he's going on a journey to California, when really all he wants to do is be with her, but he walks away anyway and goes through with his plan. Then he realizes just how unfathomably alone he is, how horrible the world truly is, and how disconnected from humanity he has become. He feels hopeless, desperate and insane, as if there is no reality anywhere in this world where he would belong.
But then, somehow, most likely by letting it all out, his mood reverses and he becomes completely blissful and happy. He loves everyone in the world, and says just about the most poetic things I've ever heard in my life.
"I am at home everywhere."
"I love everyone in the world. I know that somewhere at this very moment there is a woman waiting for me and if only I proceed very calmly, very gently, very slowly, I will come to her."
"The world is a map of our love."
We ended class with a word game. After all, it is only an English as a foreign language class. I love my class very much. They're all wonderful people and I have learned so much from them, but I know that in the long run I have to apply myself toward something more sophisticated and challenging within the field of my bliss.
As I walked home along the street, I was still immersed in Miller's words. Even though I bought the book a year ago, I didn't finish it until December. That's because I had gotten into the other books, I was still on the road and hiking and hanging out with new people a lot, and then I worked harvest constantly after that. On top of that, Tropic of Capricorn doesn't really have a plot, and he starts out as a pretty mean narrator, so I wasn't really into it. He was complaining about New York City and I was feeling ecstatic in Montana, so I didn't want to listen to him. But I got back into it when I moved to my first independent American place to be in over three years, and I'm ecstatic that I did.
His book was a much-needed call to arms at the completion of the move, because all I wanted was to rest after a long journey and inexplicably hard physical labor. I finally had a bed and walls around me, and it was winter, and I was in a new city, and all I had energy to do was read, occasionally meet people through my temporary roommates, eat, sleep and explore the city. But Miller was there at the right time to remind me that I was still on "The Writer's Journey."
Sometimes, when I read the following passage, I imagine that it's not Miller's friend who is coaching me so passionately. Instead I imagine that it is a woman from Heart Lake. I don't know if there is the woman from Heart Lake, but like most humans, I feel that even if there are several or many, either past or future, eventually, on the whole, there is one romance that outshines all the rest. I don't care if such a sentimental sentence disqualifies me from women who prefer men who treat them terribly. They can always go enjoy being constantly disrespected by some man who doesn't even care about them.
Right now I'm on my own and somewhat free to be whatever I want to be. I don't want to tell anyone what to do, do you? I mean, I'm here to help you, and if I care about you then I care about you and you know I'm going to help you, but beyond whatever flow we find together, what else should I do? In the moments that truly matter, the strongest, deepest, clearest and happiest ones, I feel from deep within me an intense truth that if there is a destiny, and if she really is the kind of person who would enjoy being with me, then I imagine she's hoping for me to be the best I can be. And because of my choice of trails through the "one poem", that means I have to keep moving forward on the writer's journey. That's why when I read these words, I imagine she's talking to me:
87 You need something to steady yourself. You’re scattering your energies. Why don’t you throw yourself into something useful? You don’t belong in that job—you could be a big guy
somewhere...I don’t
know what exactly… Listen, that’s what’s the matter with you — you’ve got
nothing but sex on the brain. No, I
don’t mean that either. You’ve got a
mind and you’ve got passion and enthusiasm… but you don’t give a damn what you
do or what happens to you. If you
weren’t such a romantic bastard I’d almost swear that you were a..... It’s different with me—I never had anything
to look forward to. But you’ve got
something in you—only you’re too damned lazy to bring it out. Listen, when I hear
you talk sometimes I think to myself—if only that guy would put it down on
paper! Why
you could write a book that would make a guy like Dreiser hang his head. You’re different from the Americans I know;
somehow you don’t belong, and it’s a damned good thing you don’t. You’re a little cracked, too—I suppose you
know that. But in a good way...
88 Sometimes I think you were born in the wrong
time. If you had just
a little more confidence in yourself you could be the biggest man in the world
today. You wouldn’t even have to be a
writer. Don’t laugh—I
mean it. You haven’t the slightest idea
of your own possibilities… you’re absolutely blind to everything except your
own desires. You don’t know what you
want. You don’t know because you never
stop to think. You’re letting people use
you up. You’re a fool, an idiot. If I had a tenth of what you’ve got I could
turn the world upside down.
Now that is what I call a timeless spiritual pep talk. And if you don't feel like you could be the biggest human in the world today, somehow, in your own special way, then how are you spending your today?
Anyway, that's why I tell the stories every day when I get home from teaching in person as a warm-up for teaching in the form of the written word. Lately it's been the new book. I feel lucky to be alive and writing anything for anyone, and I want it to be as great as it can possibly be, for you and for me.
It's kind of like carrying 80 lbs. for miles through spooky forests with monsters about: despite the bountiful beauty, it doesn't exactly feel like bliss all the time.
If I get to swim in Heart Lake, then I will definitely do whatever it takes, with every grunt and groan and "Hey Bear!" making me care and helping me walk the narrow road of the poet's trail so I will meet her there.
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