Calling Me Back

I start every morning by turning on the computer and checking email, reading the news, sometimes doing a little bit of research regarding something that came up while I was writing. Occasionally, I will rent a movie and watch it at night. But I’ve come to despise computers and the Internet. I’m convinced that staring at a computer is bad for me. I know that my vision is more shallow since I started using them (not eyesight, but vision). This morning I was giving myself a little talking-to about how I need to stop using the damn thing. Stop reading the news for starters. I don’t need to know the details of how ugly the world is getting. It’s never harmed me in the past to get away from the daily assault of news stories.  I wasn’t thinking “every now and then,”  ”a day or two,” or even a week. I was thinking months. I need months away from it to get healed.

Immediately after my little talking-to, and just prior to getting down to work on Street Song, I checked email. Only one came through, a blast from Tammy Baldwin, the new senator from Wisconsin, whose campaign I’d given money to. The subject line read “Hibernation=not an option.” I’m not sure I agree, but it was a pretty strong coincidence. Sometimes I steer by them; sometimes I don’t.

The Leap of Faith

Sunday I was reading the news and came upon a link to watch the live video feed of the skydive from 24 miles up by Felix Baumgartner. I’m generally negative toward this kind of event, seeing it as little more than kitschy spectacle. The silly “mission control” set reinforced my feeling. Nevertheless, I got pulled in and I stayed to watch. I realize that the man had put a lot into this effort and was risking his life. But if he’d died, I believe that it would have been for nothing. I respected him for admitting his fear afterward. I could hear it in his voice on the way up. He said that it was much more difficult than he’d expected.

The one moment that really grabbed me was the one in which he jumped. Later, I was thinking of the image: a man standing against the backdrop of the cosmos and taking a great leap. As I’ve come to understand it, it describes what the sage does when he seeks enlightenment: He climbs as high as he can with his reason until there comes the moment that his thought won’t take him any higher. Then he has to let go of everything and take a great leap into the unknown. This is what Buddha, Christ, Lao Tzu, and all the other true sages accomplished. One big difference between Baumgartner’s leap and the leap of the sage is that the sage can’t get into position to make the leap unless he or she is willing to do it for all of humanity. It’s not a personal show or the act of a daredevil.

I think that ultimately we all have to take that same leap at the moment we die. Reading the spiritual books, it becomes apparent that, for some reason, it’s regarded as a noble thing to do before one’s actual death. Few ever consider attempting it, though—especially in this era of materialism.

Watching the River Flow

Watching the River Flow

I recently returned from two weeks away from home—one week on the road and another in the woods. I spent a good deal of my time in the woods just sitting on the bank of a river staring at the water. I got a lot out of it. It never bored me. It sounds strange to hear people talk about the delights and miracles of technology, when they do not even begin to compare with what you can find in a river bed. I’m going to take another month off before starting the last draft of Street Song. In the meantime, I intend to post here a little more often than I usually do.

Quote of the Day

The new supposedly dazzles the old out of existence, and people of our era are encouraged to pity their ancestors who had not the good fortune to be as we are.

Wendell Berry

This Modern World

The phone rings, so I pick it up. “Hello,” I say. Nothing. Silence. “Hello,” I repeat. Still nothing. And so one more time, “Helloooo.” There is a pause of two or three seconds, and then I hear a recorded female voice say “Goodbye” and get a dial tone.

The New iPad 3

I was in a wonderful old sandwich shop today. It’s probably been around for more than a 100 years, and although I seldom buy anything there—it’s a bit out of my way—I always like going in. The wood is old and dark and the shelves and cutting boards are antique. It’s not affected. It’s just that the owners have never changed anything. I was standing near the cashier when something happened that I’d never seen before. To complete the transaction the cashier had to push a button on the customer’s cell phone. I don’t know cell phones, so I have no idea what was going on. For some reason the customer—a young guy—was quite pleased with this and said, “I feel like I’m in the future,” which made me cringe. I can’t stand enthusiasm for technological gadgets. Then the two started enthusing over the new iPad 3, which Apple had announced just a few hours earlier. Their enthusiasm was mutual and it was real. For once, I wanted just to get my sandwich and get out of there.

On San Francisco

A while ago I told someone who reads this blog that I would write something about what I see happening in San Francisco. As I remember, the reader used to live here but had to move to Florida and was curious to know what the city is like now.

I first came to San Francisco in late 1973 and, except for a year in exile in Oakland, I’ve been here ever since. In that time, the city has gone through a lot of changes. Few of the changes have been for the good. We have a reputation for being a city filled with radical leftwing kooks who are anti-business. I wish it were true. The reality is that San Francisco is a money town now, and the interesting people—who seldom have the goal of getting rich—can’t afford to live here anymore.

One thing I see happening is that Silicon Valley has filled the town with technophiles who are so enchanted by their gadgets and virtual realities that they have very little concern with the world they actually inhabit. San Francisco has been a beautiful place, but that beauty is quickly being destroyed by mindless development. More and more, the people who live here don’t care. They want a job, an apartment, and good cell phone reception. Everything else is of little importance. So business has a free hand to “create jobs.” Doing meaningful work seems a meaningless goal to most people. All they want is a paycheck. A lot of these same people have the goal of turning San Francisco into a “world class city,” which means “high-powered,” big, bright, and crowded; taller and taller buildings that look exactly like the buildings in every other town you go to; big sports events.

One of the biggest job creators here is tourism. Tourists started coming to San Francisco in large numbers because it was different from other American cities. It had soul. But tourism kills the soul of every place it infects. I’ve seen it happen in many other places. No one can tell me it’s not true. San Francisco is losing its soul. For a lot of people, the trade-off is worth it, and I find that immensely disheartening.

The reason all this bugs me so much is that when I first arrived, there were a lot of people here working to create something that met real human needs and concerns. It was a rare endeavor within American life. These kinds of movements are hard enough to start, let alone pull off. We Americans like to think of ourselves as practical and utilitarian. I think we’re merely mundane. The powers that be—the Chamber of Commerce, certain newspaper columnists—have mocked and vilified those movements to the point that they have very little support anymore. They are worthy endeavors. Sometimes they get a little unreal, but that’s because being creative and real are so foreign to us as a people.

I live in a garden on Telegraph Hill. It’s one of the most unique neighborhoods in the United States. Because the neighborhood is officially designated an historic district, it often feels removed from developments going on in the rest of the city. But money having the free hand that it does now at City hall, this feeling seems more and more like an illusion. I’m going to be writing more about this in the near future.

Today’s Quote

The rise of the electronic communications infrastructure hasn’t done anything to improve the signal-to-noise ratio. It has merely amplified and enhanced it. Instead of ordinary bullshit, you can now have flaming digital bullshit bounced off a satellite for your listening and viewing enjoyment.

Stephen Gaskin

Progress Report #71

There isn’t much to report except that I’m still working through the outline and making regular, steady progress. I expect to be done around the end of February.

This morning, I was sitting at the table eating breakfast, looking at the buds starting to break out in the plum tree, watching the finches eat from Judy’s feeder, and noting that the Toyon she transplanted is doing well. It occurred to me again that this is the mind with which I must write my book. It’s not the mind I have looking at the computer and the Internet, which is shallow—a mile wide and an inch deep—but the mind that I have when I look at the real world. It’s been my intention all along to write the final draft with pen and paper. My experience this morning reinforced my commitment to doing it that way.

There is No Escape

I first had the opportunity to go to Santa Barbara Island three years ago. The island is 38 miles off the coast of Los Angeles (a four hour boat ride) and part of Channel Islands National Park. It’s about 1.8 miles long with 640 acres. There are no beaches, just steep cliffs, some of which are over 600 feet high. There are no trees, no water, no stores. Just a single bunkhouse, which uses propane and solar energy. The bunkhouse serves as shelter for the island’s caretakers and for those working to restore the island’s native habitat. When Judy and I went there three years ago as volunteer caretakers, we were completely cut off from civilization. Our sole interaction with other human beings was over the radio each morning when we had to send in the morning weather report. I loved it! Every sight and sound was natural: wind, sun, the barking of sea lions, the island grasses, flowers, pelicans, hawks, meadowlarks.

We had the opportunity to go again this year and I was looking forward to the peace and quiet. But the very first night, at 2:00 am, we were awakened by a helicopter hovering very low and shining a large spotlight. It flew over the bunkhouse three times before finally disappearing. What the hell was that? we both wondered. The helicopter returned the next morning, and it was huge. We wondered if they were searching for drug smugglers or something. It turned out that a 26-foot boat had driven into the island in the middle of the night, and the helicopter had been sent out to rescue the three fishermen on board. The next day, as the only people on the scene, the park service radioed us, asking us to look for the wreckage and to take photographs from the cliffs above. We hiked along the cliffs, picking our way through the prickly pear cactus and the cholla (another nasty cactus plant) until we found it. Taking photographs of the wreckage and radioing in reports took up three of our days there. I’m not complaining. I had a fantastic time. But it’s strange how difficult it is to escape the doings of human beings. Our machines take us everywhere now and the people running the machines are often foolish and oblivious. Foolish and oblivious enough to drive a large boat into an island in the middle of the night.

Walking back from shooting the wreckage

The Wreckage