Embracing Divinity

Existentialism And Mysticism continued
Jan. '78

A "movement away from ego" was held in common by both Nishitani and
the Existentialists. Whatever else mysticism was about, it certainly
was about integrating the self—with something more meaningful
and larger than "I,” "me," or "mine." The more one's gaze was
directed inward, the more one found himself/herself farther a field,
more connected, and ironically, less substantial. Connectivity and the
concept of nothingness were mysteriously tied to one another in the
mystical tradition.

Kierkegaard and Heidegger both demonstrated a major backing
away from ego in their respective philosophies, but any
comparison between Heidegger and Kierkegaard dead-ends with the
appearance of God. The all knowing, infinite, and "means to salvation"
God of Kierkegaard was never encountered by Heidegger. Even so, both
men traversed a lot of the same territory. Although Heidegger would
never have called Being-in-the-world, God, Being-in-the-world did have
a spiritual side to it, albeit a pantheistic one. More importantly,
for Heidegger (as well as Kierkegaard), cutting through the dross of
life required a sensitivity to nothingness that was inversely
proportional to one's self-concept; or, in other words, one's deepest
subjectivity spiraled away from ego into a nothingness where at
bottom, Kierkegaard found what he called "nothingness before God," and
Heidegger found what he called "Being-in-the world."

For both men becoming aware of the veiled human condition was the
problem. Finding a solution to the problem required, for Kierkegaard,
working through a kind of dialectic of despair, and then committing to
a relationship with the eternal. For Heidegger, becoming aware of
death's significance, and then becoming authentic was the sought after
goal. Progress, for both men, meant finding day-to-day existence
unacceptable. Developing a relationship with the Absolute, for
Kierkegaard, and being called back to the facticity of the totality of
the relational involvement of Dasein, for Heidegger, required that one
be dissatisfied with day to day living until a more meaningful
relationship with `being" could be found.

For Kierkegaard, no amount of objective information could satisfy his
thirst. The solution to the problem of understanding oneself in
existence, if a solution could be found at all, had to come from the
inner reaches of ones own subjectivity. "I contemplate the order of
nature in hope of finding God, and I see omnipotence and wisdom," he
said, "but I also see much else that disturbs my mind and excites
anxiety." What he saw was that the whole of the world's wisdom did not
substitute for the inward passion used to embrace divinity. In fact,
nothing objective could be said about that kind of truth.
The existing thinker's problem was a subjective problem. Everything else,
according to Kierkegaard, was just so much "objective uncertainty."

Moving Away From Ego--Subjectivity Spirals Into Nothingness

Existentialism And Mysticism continued
Jan. '78

Toward A Deeper Subjectivity

It is false to think that we—mind, soul, and/or consciousness (take
your pick) — are here to lord it over the rest of creation. From inside
our "citadel of selfhood," we are wrong to look out at everything
else, whether human or nonhuman, --as other. We are wrong to think of
God as the prime mover, the "watch maker," or the king of the
universe. Until I read Nishitani's book, I didn't know that we in the
West were so shallow, so practical, so business like, and so wrong.

Nishitani, obviously critical of the Western tradition, was still
drawn to the study of this tradition, or at least to the study of the
existential response to the meaninglessness at the root of man's
being. That response originated in the Germanic-European tradition,
not the Anglo-American tradition. The existentialism of Nietzsche,
Sartre, Heidegger, and Kierkegaard grew out of the ruins of
Greek-Christian thought and belief structures. For the most part, the
American culture of commonsense realism-- practical, simplistic,
Utilitarianism, the political philosophy of John Locke, and the
God-centered idealism of Bishop Berkeley---was diametrically opposed
to the Taoist-Buddhist principle of harmony espoused by Asian culture.

The European Existentialists, from their rational-religious despair,
spoke to Nishitani. From a no-God, no-meaning world, wherein all human
values came to naught in death, surged, from the pens of those
self-conscious thinkers, new meanings--meanings that were not totally
opposed to Buddhist-oriented culture. Ultimately, for Nishitani, it
was sunyata that filled the gap separating man's being from his
religious awareness. This organic awareness, common to Asian
religions, would be necessary if the experience of "oneness" were to
be made manifest in the West. Existentialism was deficient here, but
at least it was a major step in the right direction.

Sunyata—Self Emptiness--Being What Is Not While Not Being What Is

Existentialism And Mysticism continued
Purgatory Of Sartre’s Self
Jan. ‘78

The cogito of Sartre, says Nishitani, does not lead us down the path of inner
subjectivity because sunyata—absolute emptiness—is not the ground of
the subject. Antipodal negativity or the opposite of existence, takes
us nowhere. "It is not that the self is empty," says Nishitani, "but
that emptiness is self; not that things are empty, but that emptiness
is things…On the field of sunyata, each thing is itself in not being
itself, and is not itself in being itself." In the end, sunyata fills
the gap between subject and object, between man and God, and between
God and creation. Sunyata reaches across into the ground of all other
things by gathering all things together in relationship with one
another, and, as such, fills the chasm at the root of being. Sunyata,
in this sense, says Nishitani, is not just absolute emptiness; it is
the "Great Affirmation."


The rest of my book report deals with the "hows," "whys," and
"wherefores" of the following statement: For Kierkegaard the inner
journey into subjectivity ended with a person discovering his or her
"nothingness before God." In a like manner, for Heidegger, the journey
ended with the appropriation of a similar nothingness--the discovery of
Being-in-the-world, or the condition for any "knowing" whatsoever. In
Nietzsche, that nothingness, along with subjectivity itself, was
affirmed. The positive results of faith, authenticity, and life
affirmation, respectively, are not found in Sartre. Rather, the
nothingness discovered by Sartre condemned humanity to a kind of
purgatory. "The self is free from all but self," says Sartre. Here the
self is cut off from everything except from its own nothingness.

Existentialism And Mysticism-Shake, Don’t Stir

Dr. Folkart’s Mysticism Class
Jan. ’78 pics S, N, N, H, D, K


My Mysticism class was not your typical class, but it sure was a lot of fun.
Before starting the class, I already had an appreciation for the
mystical traditions. The best part of the class, for me at least,
came when Dr. Folkart asked me if I would read and report back to him
on a book that he had not read. The author, Keiji Nishitani, a
Japanese Philosophy Professor, had studied under Martin Heidegger. My
professor knew I had studied Existentialism, and he wanted some input
on that part of the book. After I wrote my report on the book entitled
Religion and Nothingness, I wrote a summery to make it easier to
understand. That summary should be helpful here also:

The Cartesian division of reality into an immaterial, invisible
consciousness and the material world is not the
whole story. In fact, basically, that's just plain wrong---both
mysticism and existentialism move beyond this limitation.
For instance, Kierkegaard tells us that movement inward is
movement forward, and, if pushed far enough, this movement results in
an intense religious experience. The short story here is that an inverse
relationship exists between a person's outward ego and the gap that
separates a person from God. In other words, big ego-big gap, little
ego-gap closes. For Kierkegaard, "one's nothingness before God" is the
end goal.

A similar thing is going on in the thought of Heidegger. Dasein,
in thrownness, begins in nullity and ends with authentic being.
This is ditto for Nietzsche. His nihilism is not an attack on
differences per-se, rather it is the "eternal recurrence" of the
destruction of everything, hence the affirmation of everything.
In the philosophy of Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Nietzsche,
one discovers the theme of liberation. That
theme is not so obvious in Sartre. His path to deeper subjectivity
takes us no further than the freely chosen act. His cogito is so shut
up within itself that it can never escape from its own nothingness.
Sartre's philosophy is a dead end, or so says Nishitani, who then goes
on to describe a much more powerful liberation theme.

University Class On Mysticism

Sitting In On Mysticism Class
Jan. `78


I asked Dr. Folkart at the beginning of the semester if I could sit
in on his Mysticism class. He mostly taught Hinduism and Buddhism, but
this class was going to be a combination of a lot of Asian religions.
It was his first time teaching it. I was glad when he gave me
permission to join the class. The class was divided into two parts,
readings, lecture, and discussion—and---the practice part. Of course,
exams were mandatory, two of them, but the practice part also
required a written account of the feelings and emotional changes that
either happened or didn't happen.

Mysticism, according to my Professor, referred to a reality that was
rarely experienced, and because of this there was a great deal of
skepticism and doubt concerning its existence. The claim to that other
reality, though, was not merely stated; its credibility came out of a
direct experience of it and no description could substitute for that
direct experience. According to Dr. Folkart, it was kind of like when
an unsuspecting push put you in the deep end of a swimming pool. "How
do you prepare for that kind of experience?" he said. In order for
mysticism to be believed, it had to be experienced, but we were not
expected to become mystics. My Professor just wanted us to learn how
to take seriously the centuries-old claims of the mystics.

Professor Folkart did his PhD work in India, on the Jain religion. He
told the class, "If you keep an open mind and do the practices, I
guarantee that some of the potential that lies dormant in each and
every one of you will be realized." It was obvious; he really wanted
the class to develop an appreciation for the mystical tradition. With
that end in mind, he handed out the class syllabus. It had a
description of the exercises that were supposed to correspond to the
mystical traditions that we would study: nature-mysticism,
body-mysticism, and mind/consciousness-mysticism. The exercises were
to be explored separately and in combination. For the most part, they
were basic control-disciplines, with emphasis placed on silence,
solitude, and fasting. Some of the exercises were optional. The
meditation and scheduled yoga sessions (under the direction of Dr.
Folkart), however, were required.

Here’s A Head’s Up Summary On Future Posts—Search For Divinity

In my next series of posts I start investigating the theoretical and practical underpinnings of Eastern (Asian) Religious ideas. After I sit in on a Mysticism class I add another series of posts on the Existential aspect of these kinds of religious teachings. Later still, I talk about the Lotus Sutra and Tibetan Buddhism, and all this takes place before I begin my West Coast Bicycle trip. During this period, I also meet a young lady who, for a brief time moves in with me. In short, I believe the next month or so of posts will strike most readers as—pretty dry!

My West Coast Bicycle trip, I believe, was the most interesting of my adventures. I continued to develop my life philosophy on that trip and, upon completion, my journal turns into a kind of dialogue with MV (a Faust/Mephistopheles type dialogue) which, in turn, dovetails into my last bicycle trip—a return to Quebec and Canadian Maritime Provinces.

What’s left? Well, what’s left is the philosophy that ties my theoretical investigations together, i.e., the answers to the questions that I’ve raised while traveling life’s highway (see the last paragraph for a brief description of what my philosophy/religion entails). Obviously, I am still talking about a long journey here, and, to be frank, I do not think my life is exceptional, -- or even that fascinating. My journey is just one out of all the countless billions out there; thus, I feel privileged to have anyone read just one of my posts, --but my heartfelt thanks goes out to all who have signed on to this blog.


The problem is that what connects God to humans also separates humans from “self” (self as the implicative affirmative of the not-me-self). Free will and self-consciousness, however, follow from this separation. We have the “option to choose,” and, of course, choice carries with it a lifetime of baggage which determines “how we choose.” Nevertheless, choice falls between good and evil and if per chance it should land in the neighborhood of evil, civilization provides law and order to counter harm and mayhem. Again, in terms of freedom’s dialectic, the ~b of ~bb at the level of b~b~bb is the source of meaningful symbol creation, which, in turn, opened the door to the creation of language, myth, religion, art, theoretical knowledge, and the rest of the civilizing processes that we call civilization. This ongoing self-liberation is not only embedded in civilization, it is also embedded in the aesthetic continuum and it is here that the true meaning of life will ultimately be found. The gorgeous sunset that sometimes swells our eyes to tears is not just a product of the spinning earth; it is also part of the spontaneous, pulsating, emotion that flows from the whole of the aesthetic continuum. Inspiration for the poet, painter, and musician comes not from cerebral musings, but rather from the empowering emotion that inspires life, imagination, and awe. The strength and resolve necessary to create a better world is not found in analysis and calculation, but rather in the empowering emotion that calls us to love, beauty and truth. The immediately grasped, emotionally moving ground out of which all things arise–the aesthetic component of our experience–beckons us to seek the impossible, express the unspeakable, and imagine the inconceivable. The ~b of ~bb at the level of b~b~bb, — or the voice of the devil in my story—is the voice of Divinity made whole in consciousness, and, as such, this voice is not the traditional voice of Lucifer, Satan, or the Devil. This soul-stealing demon of tradition, rather, was the imagined product of wandering nomads lost in the desert many millenniums ago, or so says Randy Newman in his Rock Opera Faust, and I agree. However, imagination itself is a product of the ~b of ~bb, so, to put a more wholesome spin on the plight of the wandering nomads, one could say that the voice of Divinity, via the imagination, was admonishing consciousness not to stray from the divine path. Again, self-consciousness and imagination are component aspects of the voice of Divinity, but, in the general parlance of dialogue, the word typically used to reference that voice is “conscience.” However, Divinity has a more direct and powerful voice. Divinity (when it truly speaks) speaks through the language of love.

Faust’s Redemption

Freedom Talk Is Cheap, Especially When People Don’t Want To Be Free
Exam Concluded Goethe’s Faust ‘77


Faust was ambitious, and as such, he set himself an ambitious task--to
create a free country for free people. “The deed is all, the glory
not,” became his battle cry. He was faced with a very difficult
problem: How do you free people who don’t want to be free? Faust knew
that freedom talk was cheap. People wanted security more than
freedom. With his solution to the problem, Faust showed genius. Not only
would Faust make people appreciate freedom, he would also
provide them with the conditions necessary to preserve that freedom.
If you can’t take people to the Mothers, you bring the Mothers to
the people. Faust proposed a project, and the people responded. He
set them the task to carve land from the sea. Hard work was required,
but land was the reward. Eventually, with enough reclaimed land,
people could establish their own independence. They would create their own country.

For Faust, further benefits, unbeknownst to the people, would
transpire. By securing land from the sea, by orchestrating a system of
dykes and dyke maintenance, the conditions would be put in place that
would not only permit freedom, it would also demand it. Ultimately, the
hard work and vigilance necessary to see such a major project through
to completion would teach people that life and freedom were to be
equally valued. Faust knew that freedom was never free. Teaching that
lesson to others was his great success, and a free land for free
people was his great vision realized. But, even with all that success,
there was still unfinished business to attend to.

Faust, now an old man, was all but ready to say to the moment, “Abide!
You are so fare, stay, remain for eternity!” With those words, Faust, would
have sealed his fate and sold his soul to the devil, but he hesitated. He
hesitated because his vision was not yet fully realized. Two of his
subjects, a husband and wife of many years, lived within the sound of
the bell of the Church. Faust knew that all that remained within hearing
distance of that sound remained subject to the dictates and rules of the Church.
Acting on Faust’s orders, Mephistopheles and his lieutenants went to
remove the old couple from their land. The relocation of the old man
and woman was necessary to avoid conflict with the Church. With the
couple out of the way, Faust would secure the undisputed deed to the
territory he claimed for his kingdom. Of course, the old couple could
not be persuaded to leave their home and, in the scuffle, Mephistopheles’
lieutenants murdered the old man and his wife. Their unjust deaths
were not the first to stain the hands of Faust, but they were the last.

Even though Faust had not intended to murder the couple, he held
himself responsible, and this guilt eventually culminated in his
denial of care and his rejection of Mephistopheles. For this
disobedience, the “Powers That Reigned” blinded Faust; and thus Faust spoke:
“Deep night now seems to fall more deeply still. Yet inside me there shines a
brilliant light. What I have thought, I hasten to fulfill.” Faust
could no longer see his kingdom, but his inner vision remained intact.
Faust, now at death’s door, accepted his fate. In anticipation of his
death, Mephistopheles waited with outstretched hands for the release
of his soul. The soul should have been on its way to Hell, or at least
so thought the devil. But, slipping through Mephistopheles
fingertips, Faust’s soul was lifted up to Heaven instead, and a dark
shadow fell over Goethe’s reputation.

[Faust’s salvation (Faust--Part Two) was posthumously published, and, as
expected, it was greeted with animosity, but Goethe’s reputation recovered.]

In the end, the right use of power, the deed, and knowledge brought
Faust’s salvation and Goethe’s lifelong project to a close. Where love,
beauty and form meet, enlightenment cannot be far behind, but it might
be a stretch to attribute enlightenment to Faust. I’ll have to give that a
little more thought!

The day after I wrote the above exam, I experienced a beautiful sunrise which
inspired the following poem:

Sunrise

A heavy frost,
crisp refreshing air,
the end of a night’s work.

Standing aloof,
glancing toward the sky,
another sunrise.

Another sunrise indeed,
a crimson miracle,
uncovering sublime emotion.

What to do,
run, find yourself a high perch,
the top of Brooks Hall.

Mesmerized,
A timeless moment,
splendor unsurpassed.

Watching the sky unfold,
transfixed in a living aura,
transposed into one sensation.

Life energy becomes fluid,
synonymous with beauty,
everything becomes beautiful.

Listless, yet attending,
attention turns inside out,
object and subject cease to be.

Where Love, Beauty, And Form Merge The Journey Ends

Exam Continued
Faust’s Quest

Love And Form

Faust learned that a kinship existed between power and the word.
Likewise, he had to learn that there existed a kinship between love,
beauty, and form. For Faust, sensuality was never an end in itself,
and because of that, Gretchen’s love was his reward. Seeking a higher
ideal, and lifted by sensuality into a real and penetrating love,
Faust found temporary happiness. Unfortunately, he made mistakes along
the way; mistakes that contributed to the deaths of his beloved
Gretchen and the child that he conceived with her. Out of that
tragedy, Faust learned the difference between love and sensuality,
and, if one were to ask Mephistopheles, his participation in that
tragedy earned him a place in Hell.

The condemnation of Faust was--and remains, arguable. Knowledge is not
free, and the death of Gretchen and her baby was an extreme example of
just how unjust the price of knowledge can sometimes be. After that major
tragedy, Faust was transported (we are not told by what magic)
to the Greek Classical Period; there, he met and fell in love with Helen
of Troy. The first time he set eyes on Helen, she was a captive enemy
being lead away by the victorious Greeks after the sack of Troy.
Helen’s beauty went to the core of her very being. She was proud, but
not too proud. She was nobody’s prisoner; restricted by circumstances, yes,
but never bowed. She represented human dignity at its highest level.
Faust was totally smitten by her comely presence and beauty. He fell
straight away in love with her, but when he reached out for her she
vanished into thin air, and, thus began Faust’s quest for a love that would
deliver him unto that place where love, beauty, and form merge. In
order to find Helen, and get to that place, Faust had to pay a visit
to the mythical Mothers.

The Mothers were mysterious and terrifying. They practiced magic and,
best I could tell from the reading, they were like witches, but not of
this world. Many had encountered the Mothers, but only those
who could endure total resignation survived to tell the story. A pure
heart and absolute sincerity were required to survive. For Faust,
going to the Mothers, was his only chance to find and win Helen. Failure
in this quest meant certain death, but Faust was not deterred.

Mephistopheles could not accompany Faust to the Mothers. In the Devil’s bag
of tricks, resignation was eternally absent. Upon Faust’s successful return,
Mephistopheles influence over Faust greatly diminished. Before the
Mothers, the two were comrades, although reluctant ones, and after the
Mothers, a gaping distance separated them. “In your nothingness I hope
to find everything,” said Faust to Mephistopheles, and so it was;
after the Mothers, Faust became free to follow his own instincts.

Faust was stronger and more determined now. He also acquired the
information he needed to find Helen. Faust’s Mothers encounter, and
Goethe’s lack of description of it, I suppose was meant to allow one’s
imagination to fill in the blanks. The Mothers experience permanently
changed Faust, and Heidegger, I believe, offers up an answer to why!


When one confronts his/her non-relational, not to be outstripped, possibility of
Dasein (the anticipation of death), one becomes free for resoluteness. After the
Mothers experience, Faust became free from Mephistopheles, and in that
freedom, it seems to me, he discovered his authenticity. Acting authentically,
acting as if each breath was a final breath, Faust was able to look deep into the
conditional nature of care and free himself from Mephistopheles. However,
before Faust could deny care’s relational nature (one’s attachment to desire), before
he could totally abandon Mephistopheles, he had to learn an additional
lesson. One must find his/her work and do it! That lesson was a
hard one for Faust to learn, but it was even harder for him to learn
that it was not enough to do the work; how one did his/her work was just as
important. In other words—“When does the means justify the ends?”

Goethe’s Faust—Learning How To Make Life Meaningful

Without Context Words Are Empty And Impotent
Dec. `77

For me, after my bicycle trip, it was back to washing pots and pans.
However, my accumulated work seniority enabled me, after a time, to
move into a midnight custodian job. With my days freed up, I wanted to
take a class, but it was already too late in the semester to do that. Instead
I asked my old professor, Dr. Gill, if I could sit in on his class. I had
already taken that class, but he was teaching it to an honor's section
of students, and I wanted to see what that was all about. The class,
his philosophy through literature class, was a favorite of mine. Dr.
Gill knew I loved the Faust story, so he let me sit in. I was
surprised to find that the class was taught exactly the same to the
honor's students, and, even though I wasn't there to be graded, I
still took the final exam. Dr. Gill liked what I wrote so much that he
suggested I try to publish it. That was a confidence booster. Here's
the exam—a post Heidegger take on Faust.

Power And The Word

After a time, Faust lost all faith in the power of words. Words are a
form of "disclosure," that's all. Without context, meaning, and
understanding words are empty and impotent. Goethe's play was
important because it depicted the kinship that exists between
discourse and understanding. When the growth of Faust was looked at
from start to finish, it was no longer just about words; it was a
representational model of a powerful sense of life lived meaningfully.

When Faust used Mephistopheles to acquire power, havoc and misery
followed. In the grip of care, the care of pure desire, Faust wielded
great power and caused great harm. Many innocents suffered and even
died because of Faust's reckless behavior and ignorance. He intended
good, but he produced the opposite. After many disappointments, he
discovered that, like the word without understanding, power without
scruples caused untold disasters. A great deal of tragedy came to pass
before Faust learned that very important lesson.

Unrestricted power always caused harm, and even power directed toward
the success of "high ideals" was poignantly wedded to discourse and
understanding. Faust made many mistakes, but he never stopped learning
from those mistakes. "The man who desires the impossible," Manto
said, "that man I love. Man errs as long as he strives…" To succeed,
Faust, like so many before and after him, had to fail. Until Faust began
to understand the most powerful of discourses, he remained a victim of
his own ignorance.

Closing Remarks On My East Coast Bicycle Trip

Sitting At My Typewriter
Oct. 17, 1977


Here’s a few observations concerning my Atlantic coast bicycle trip.

1. When I began my bicycle trip my hair was long. I wondered how my
long hair would be received on the road. I assumed the outside world
would have regressed back to the "I hate longhairs" attitude, since
back at university long hair had pretty much been disinherited by the
student population. I was wrong. What I found "out there" was no
hassle whatsoever. In fact, a large majority of the working class had
assimilated long hair, along with its assorted life styles. In
retrospect, that's not too surprising since the working class has
become my generation while college students are now from another time.

2. It was interesting that among the many bicyclers I met (Richard had
more than his share of stories here), all had problems with unfriendly
canines. Everybody had special defenses for dealing with the
unfriendly critters. Richard kept his bicycle lock and chain at arm's
reach, so if needed he could easily use it to fend off attacking dogs.
I also had many occasions where I had to deal with the unruly
four-legged clan, but I was fortunate not to have to get physical. I
perfected a procedure that got me through the scariest of times. It
went something like this: Most dogs were only protecting their
territory. Their charge slowed the closer they got to the bike.
However, some actually wanted to eat the biker.
(I got so I could measure up the dog pretty well), I didn't panic. I
just kept looking forward until the dog was almost on top of me, and then
I would turn and look directly into the dog's eyes. Upon eye contact, I
could tell how "serious" the dog was, and with varying degrees of
intensity, I would scream at the dog "Go Home." It worked every time.
Only one time did I have to reach into the bowels of my being in order to
muster a roar (that even shocked me) in order to turn the dog away.

3. Arcadia National Park in Maine was extremely beautiful, but I found
it lacking because of an absence of wild animals.

4 Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were my mainstay on the road. I
got tired of eating all the other "not so good stuff," but I never got
tired of eating PB&J sandwiches.

5. This trip completed my many year old goal—the goal of putting
myself in a position to study and travel continuously. Now, after
achieving that goal, I feel freer than ever. I can pursue my studies,
or travel if I want to. More importantly, though, I am free not to do
either. I like that! And best of all, I am under no pressure to choose
either way. Society, peers, and even my own conscience no longer play
a role in how I decide. All future decisions will now be based on
whatever feels good. Being a CMU custodian, I have enough money to
live nicely, and I also have opportunities galore for intellectual
pursuits. I can explore new thoughts whenever they arise, and the
university is there to keep me honest. I am working in the middle of
all the intellectual stimulation I will ever need, and more
importantly, I am free from measure—no more A's, B's, C's…. I can be
smart, dumb, eccentric, or just plain plain. It's up to me. It's an
absolutely great feeling! I only have myself to blame if I don't take
advantage of all the potential that surrounds me.

6. The last point I want to make--is in defense of this journal as a
whole. Because I had to actualize my possibilities, and because I had
to follow through on a plan in order to put myself in that position,
this trip has been lacking in what I enjoy most—spontaneity. I needed
to complete this trip, however, and in doing so, I have validated all
the work I had put into getting myself to this point in life. It's a dream
come true. Just being here now is the exclamation point to everything.
I am really free from here on out.

7. Last comment: for good or bad C. S. and I have begun
correspondence. It appears as though we might get back together.
Whether this is a manifestation of the tragic flaw in "mankind," or
just in me, time will tell. For the record, I do want this to happen.
It would be, for me, a dream come true.

P.S. The correspondence ended (8-25-77). She will stay in South
Dakota.

A Day And A Life—Love Preserving What’s Best In All Things

Humpty Dumpty Concluded
Somewhere On The Rocky Shores Of Lake Huron
July `77

We will never know for sure why Humpty fell off his wall. Some say it
was a case of negligence—the victim of loosing his balance. Others say
it was a mercy killing. Humpty's lifelong perch afforded him an
opportunity for freedom and release, and he just took advantage of it.
There was no questioning the outcome though--massive amounts of broken
eggshell everywhere.

It is well known that all the king's men and all the king's horses
failed to put Humpty back together again, but what is not so well
known is the fate of poor Humpty's remains. In the spring, beside the
patches of melting snow, something incredible happened. A shoot of
grass sprouted. The hearty blade shot up right beside a large piece of
Humpty, connecting that piece to another. More grass sprouted, and
more pieces of Humpty came together. Amazingly, Humpty's pieces, when
connected, stuck together. But Humpty wasn't just coming together;
piece-by-piece he was growing. It was a slow process, but for Humpty,
his newfound "wholeness" had become meaningful in a way that he
previously could not have imagined.

To this day, what happened to Humpty remains a mystery. But somehow he
pulled himself together. And when a broken egg becomes whole again, it
is quite an event! The significance of this comeback did not go
unrecognized by Humpty. Being an egg, he was already hypersensitive,
but his hypersensitivity now mushroomed. Love was indeed the motivator
here, but Humpty also realized that the tragedy of lost love had
something to do with his recovery and transformation too.

We will never know what, ultimately, was responsible for Humpty's
rejuvenation. Was it the workings of some miracle of Mother Nature, or
was it the mysterious power of love preserving what is best in all
things? It is impossible to get beyond speculation here. One thing is
for sure, though, the demise of the daisy, for Humpty, meant the
demise of meaning and hope, and without meaning and hope death's door opens
wide. That's all history now, even if it remains an unfinished story.

The last I heard, Humpty was back climbing up to his perch on the wall.
That climb would be difficult for anybody, but for an egg it had to be
doubly hard. I also heard that he had fallen a couple of times, but, apparently
he had learned how to fall without going to pieces. For the life of me,
I can't fathom why he would want to climb back up that wall. To be
sure, the ground is the only safe place for an egg! Oh, well, whatever
it takes to find happiness. Who am I to judge anyway? Climb on Humpty!
Climb on and on, for as long as it takes, for as long as you can. It's
your life, live it. Your story is still unfinished!

A Day And A Life--Love Hurts

Humpty Dumpty Revisited
Somewhere On The Rocky Shores Of Lake Huron
July 22, `77

Everybody knows the story of Humpty Dumpty, but they probably don't know
the rest of the story. Of course he fell from the wall, everybody knows that,
but why? Did the love bug smote Humpty? Is that what caused him to
loose his balance and fall? Humpty admired the world from atop his
perch, and he was happy, even jubilant. But then a not so beautiful
daisy captured his attention, a daisy struggling to free its face from
the matted grass holding it down. The struggle had a hypnotic affect
on Humpty. As he watched the flower struggle to free itself, he became so
emotional that he stopped eating. Finally, after the vigil that was already
into its third day, the flower began to die, or at least that's what Humpty
thought. Fearing the end, he turned away. When he finally brought himself
to look again, he saw the daisy’s soft brown center and yellow petals
reaching out to him. This unexpected sight so startled Humpty that he almost
fell off the wall. For Humpty, that could have been the end, but it wasn't.

Everything changed for Humpty after that. Humpty was carefree and
happy before he discovered his daisy, but now he was overcome by
his desire for the daisy. Alas, it was not to come to pass. Humpty was fated to
look upon his beloved and likewise, the daisy's fate was to reach for
(but never touch) her beloved admirer. Day after day Humpty gazed
down upon his daisy with the anguish that only two lovers forced apart
could know. Humpty envied the morning dew as the tiny droplets graced the
petals of his daisy. Under the rising sun, watching the dewdrops
shrink and slip away into nothingness became, for Humpty, a morning
ritual. Needless to say, Humpty's love grew stronger (and more
tragic), as the sun journeyed north along the summer's horizon. It was
a sad day indeed when the daisy started to wilt and die.

Humpty was not dumb. He knew he could not stop the inevitable, but
that didn't make it any easier. In the beginning, he simply denied
what was happening. But when the daisy's head drooped under its own
weight, Humpty was crushed by a torrent of distress. He screamed,
"Don't go. I love you. My love will never, never die. It is forever.
Know that I love you now and forever." But in reality Humpty knew that
it was over. The next morning, in the place where his beautiful daisy
reached out to him, he spied only a brown tangled mass of grass.
Humpty retreated into his shell after that, his life's passion only a
memory. For him, all beauty, love, and life had evaporated, just like
the dew droplets that had once adorned the petals of his beloved
flower. A torture beyond belief, replaced Humpty’s reason for living.

Morning After Lake Huron Beach

Alpena, Mich.
July 20, ’77

I'm in a little different mood today. I still agree with Michigan
being one of the best states for camping, but I've run up against some
asshole drivers that take the joy out of biking. Oh well, gotta take
the good with the bad I guess. Except for one particular asshole who
tried to run me off the highway, it was good day for biking today. It
was hot, and I took five swim breaks (yesterday three or four).

Yesterday, when I was peddling through Alpena in the late afternoon,
I ran into an old classmate of mine from CMU. Mark was a musician and
his band had a gig at an Alpena bar. He wanted me to stick around and
hear the band. No problem! After a shower and a short nap, I left his
motel room and moseyed over to the bar about 10:30 p.m. It was a
pretty rowdy crowd and although I knew Mark preferred playing jazz, as
opposed to rock and roll, on that night at least, the band played
passable rock. The beer was cold and before the night was over I
managed to drink more than my share. At last call, Mark grabbed a
twelve pack and we all went back to the motel room. Everybody was a
wee bit drunk, but I managed to sober up when the boys in the band
started to play a game of firecracker your roommates. Mark noticed
that I wasn't really comfortable with what was going on, so he
suggested we go look for the sun. A couple more beers later we found
it, coming up over the Lake Huron horizon. I just wish I could have
appreciated it more. I did manage to get a few passed out hours of
sleep on the beach, though.

When I made it back to the motel, I found everybody fast asleep. I
left Mark a note of thanks and split. An hour or so out of Alpena, my
gear cable broke. After backtracking to the Alpena bike shop, and
getting my bike repaired, the whole morning was shot. It was no big
deal. I was in terrible shape, anyway. By the end of the day, I had
pushed through a strong headwind, and made it to Roger's City. Tired,
and still feeling the effects of my hangover, I managed to find a
camping spot just off the perimeter of the state park. I had a good
time with Mark, but it didn't come cheap.

I expect rain tonight. That's why I chose to hide myself close to the
park. There is a roofed picnic area not far from where I'm camped. If
things get bad, I'm out of here. When I pulled the tent flaps in on
me, it was 8:45 p.m., a little early, but I am just too tired to worry
about getting caught. Goodnight!

Family Together Again

Bay City, Michigan
July ’77 pic map, h picnic

The next day, a 90-degree day, I biked into Bay City. I stopped to
visit with my brother and his family, but he wasn't home. I bought six
beers and with two left I rolled out my sleeping bag on his deck
behind his house and called it a night. God, the joys of private
property, I almost forgot how nice it could be. He came home later
that night and wanted me to stay for a couple of days. I agreed. I
spent my time there eating and drinking and watching TV. It was great.
My parents even came down for a visit. I borrowed $35 from them, and
was on my way again. When the whole family got together like that it
was only a matter of time before tensions would rise.

When I left Bay City it clouded up. I spent most of the day riding in
and out of rain. After ten hours I made it back to Lake Huron. I'm
presently sitting at a picnic table in the Harrisville State Park,
getting ready to move outside the park, all because I want to avoid
paying the camp fee. This is a very nice park, but there are so many
places to set up camp along the highway that it just makes sense to
take advantage of them while I can. To be sure, it hasn't always been
this easy to find a campsite. Michigan rates right up at the top of
the list of states for finding easy, non-paying campsites.

Apple Wine And Campfire Eggs

Back In Michigan
July 18, `77

Well, here I am again. Excuse me while I check my eggs. They are
about ready to be made into sandwiches, and, while I'm at it, I might
as well have a few more drinks of apple wine. I just can't seem to get enough
of that Boonsfarm. An interesting note here—the last time I drank a
bottle of apple wine I was in Arcadia National Park in Maine. It was
raining and I was also cooking eggs. This time it just quit raining,
and I'm about to eat my eggs. I don't really know what all that means,
except maybe a real good time. Apple wine and campfire eggs are a great
combination; that is, if they're not too burned! Now where was I?

I made my way back to the train station on my last night in Ottawa.
My seat on the train was not very comfortable, and the long ride
was cold, but once the sun came up things got better. I arrived in
Sarnia around 2 p.m. Within an hour after arriving, I had unpacked my
bike from the train, repacked my bike for the road, gone through
customs, and was riding along the Michigan side of Lake Huron. When
Michigan was good, it was great; on a good highway, in hot sunshine,
I experienced what good bicycling was supposed to be about.
I camped that night, overlooking Lake Huron, at a scenic turnout, and
except for the seven bologna sandwiches that during the day I had to eat
because I worried the 90-degree heat would spoil the meat, it was a
pretty good night too. I'll never do that again, though!

Pay For Work—How Naive

National Library, Ottawa
July, ’77


Pam, Bruce, and I waited for an hour before we accepted our fate. Joe,
the con man, was not coming. I think Pam and Bruce were more
disappointed than I was because they actually expected to get paid for
the work they planned to do. Everybody was back at square one. Pam and
Bruce went looking for work, and I began thinking about riding my
bicycle across Ontario—not a happy thought. I didn't look forward to
competing for highway space with all that metropolitan traffic. It was
my guardian angel, Stephanie, who suggested I hop on the train.

I jumped at the idea and began to make the necessary preparations.
After getting a ticket and packaging my bike, I was ready to depart in
the morning. That night, Pam and Bruce, holding an unopened bottle of
gin, offered me a going away present. Together, drinking gin, we sat
on the steps outside the hostel, reminiscing over the good times that
never happened. This happy occasion ended with a short stagger up the
steps and back into our hostel beds. I owe Bruce one for that one!

The next morning, I missed my train. I decided to take the next train
out, a late evening one. I had another day to kill in Ottawa, so I
went to the National Library and I picked off the shelf three books by
Heidegger. He must have been popular in France because a whole shelf
of his books was written in the French language. Ultimately, I don't
believe he's saying anything I haven't heard before, but he says it
differently. He says it in his own unique language. It's possible that
I might understand this stuff even better if I could only get a really
good handle on the strange way Heidegger puts it into words. I might
want to read the book I have in front of me when I get home, so here
it is: Heidegger and Ontological Difference, L.M. Vail, The
Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park & London, 1972.
Oh what the hell, why not this one too: Martin Heidegger, What Is A
Thing, Vera Deuteh, analysis Gendlin, 1967, Henry Regner Co. Ch. Ill.

My Friend From South Africa

Hostel Friends
Ottawa, Canada
July ‘77

My Czechoslovakian friend, however, was just the opposite of John. We had
some stimulating conversations. We both liked to drink, so we spent a
couple afternoons in a pub drinking drafts. Sometimes it was hard to
understand him. He had an atrocious accent. After the 1968 takeover of
Czechoslovakia by the Soviet Union, he immigrated to South Africa. I
had taken a class on Eastern Europe and was familiar with the rise and
fall of Dubchec, the liberal reformist leader of Czechoslovakia at the
time of the Soviet takeover. My friend (I never could pronounce his
name) was impressed with my knowledge of the situation. Dubchec was
the reason the Soviets intervened in his country.

When he went to South Africa, he apparently had little trouble fitting
in because he was trained as a mechanical engineer/designer. In fact,
our most interesting conversation took place when he wanted to know
what I did for a living. He couldn't comprehend (or accept) that a
university-trained person would work with the "uneducated classes." He
said that would be a crime in South Africa. No matter what I said to
him, he could not understand that my goal all along was to become a
janitor. He would just shake his head "no" most of the time.
Actually, we had a lot of laughs over it.

I also need to say a few words about the hostel staff that has been
so kind to me. Mitch, the friendly deskman who supplied me with many
hearty laughs during my stay needs to be mentioned. Stephanie, the
assistant resident staff person who got me an appointment with the
free clinic for my poison ivy treatment (yes, I had a touch of the
stuff while off-road camping) needs to be thanked, also. I want to
thank, Jack, the head resident who let me stay past the three-day
limit, let me stay on credit, and even let me work off the cost of one
day by washing the breakfast dishes. And, as a passing point of
interest, he also confirmed what I already expected about today's
hostel clientele.

The majority of the people I've met while hostelling were "free
spirits," but not the kind of free spirits—hippie types, which used to
fill up the “city districts” back when I did most of my hitch hiking. The
free spirits of today were free because they had lots of security to
fall back upon. Their freedom rested upon—degrees, vocations, and
wealthy parents. Even Bruce, my New Zealand friend, was a skilled
computer programmer, and his older brother was New Zealand's Ambassador to
Canada. Generally speaking, these people were in the money, or at
least close to money. Jack agreed. He told me that today's travelers
were a different group of people. There were fewer of them, too. He
said, "In the past, at this time of year, I would fill all 120 beds,
as opposed to now, where only half would fill up."