Walt Whitman's Tomb

Well it was amazing. Modest by most any standard. Plain, nothing spectacular. Grave keepers digging nearby. Cars and sirens just over the fence in a Camden that's been rundown with poverty. But it was incredible to me. I have a video of some readings there that I can't upload it seems.

As good as this was though, nothing prepared me for what I would see at the Philly art museum... I had no idea this piece was on loan. I saw it and cried for 15 minutes. I never thought I would live to see it....

More later. :-)

Abandon Tent!

First night and it rained like mad. About 3/4 of an inch of water was pooled up in my tent. Everything got soaked and I mean everything. I have pictures but having a hard time getting them updated on the blog using this campsite wireless connection. Will look for a beter hotspot today -- meanwhile off to pull stuff out of the dryer!

For Whom The Road Tolls

There's nothing that says welcome to our great state like a toll road. Not that I ever believed it one bit, now I know why some say Northern people are a little more grumpy than folks in the South... gotta be the toll roads. I would need a full time regiment of psychotropic drugs if I lived here. I seriously paid more in tolls than I did for my campsite.

Not only did the road toll for me, I actually paid money for accesss on roads that were so packed with cars that I couldn't drive much over 5 miles per hour. Seriously, I drove my first 450 miles in 7 hours. My last 150 miles took six hours. And I paid them for the priviledge... hahahaha.

Fugue State Prevention 101

Albert Dadas is the subject of one my favorite philosophy books by Ian Hacking, entitled "Mad Travelers." It details many case notes from the first 'fuguer' - or the first person to suffer from a now "extinct" mental illness in which people would disappear for months on end only to reappear, usually in jail, with no recollection of where they'd been. People suffering from fugue were traveling amnesiacs driven by the compulsion to get out of town and blocked from remembering their journey outside of hypnosis or other methods of reaching the subconscious.

This "disease," oh so mysterious, appeared in the late 1800's around the birth of psychoanalytic practice reached a peak of several thousand 'reported' cases (mostly in Europe)... then for some reason, it suddenly disappeared within about thirty short years (think about the motor engine being created). In fact, by the 1930's it was non-existent and for all extents and purposes the last fuguer wandered about the countryside around 1910.

Interestingly enough, the "disease" was almost predominately suffered by men.

I use the word 'disease' in quotations because debating whether fugue was real is still happens in some circles. The history of men traveling and questing is quite rich, starting with something as basic as Heroditus' writings and easily recognized throughout the Middle Ages in the "questing" motif often exemplified by knights and their squires. The difference of course being the lack of amnesia, but in all other matters Albert Dadas was in many ways a parody of Odysseus, or perhaps Oedipus.

Fugue reached it's height around 1890 or so when names like Charcot and William James were busy writing theses about what the 'disease' truly was. Hacking and others believe the illness was removed from society when popular tourism began and when the fantasy of quests and travels had been more fully explored and distributed to the public in writings by authors like Jules Verne. I think he's probably right.

But that doesn't really address the underlying principles at work in men that have been clearly documented throughout history, even in our earliest recorded works. Nor has it changed the nature of the "pilgrimage," which is to this day is still ensconced at the heart of many religions, such as Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism.

A man on a traveling quest is in fact a deep-seated, psychological need that is constantly searching for expression. Whether it is a cyclops, a dragon, or a windmill, there is also an adversary in each man's quest - or at the very least - something to overcome.

My journey begins in a few short hours. I trust it will contain no amnesiac quality; and yet, I also trust that it will serve as a reflection to my own subconscious.

Still, I do see this as a spiritual quest. And if history is any indication this is also serving as Fugue State Prevention 101.

A funny thought, indeed, but I feel like I'm probably the only one laughing. :)

Thank you again to my wonderful church family - and especially to wife whose support I could not do without. Her strength is what gives me mine. I trust in my quest I will be bringing her back something much more valuable than a tourist trinket.

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"Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)"

~ Walt Whitman, from Song of the Open Road 

Collapsing Light Into Earth

“We fight for men and women whose poetry is not yet written…”

                                        ~ Robert Gould Shaw

On the last leg of my trip, I hopefully reach out and touch the memorial to one of America’s greatest unsung heroes. Robert Gould Shaw was born to a wealthy family in Boston, but enlisted in the Civil War when he was only 23 years old. He went on to command the 1^st all black regiment of soldiers in American history. Gould was killed in the assault on Ft. Sumter along with most of his division. The Confederates buried him in the sand there alongside his men as an act of insult. After the war, many bodies were exhumed and taken home, but his father chose to leave Robert at Sumter, buried among his men. For the Shaw family, being buried alongside the black soldiers wasn’t an insult at all. It was the highest honor imaginable.

Shaw’s memorial was constructed in Boston some 35 years after his death, although most of Boston wanted it built right away. There was some dissension about how exactly the monument would look. Shaw’s family and many other abolitionists repeatedly insisted that Shaw not be depicted in any memorial without his men also being depicted. It finally happened.

There are pictures on the web for people to look at – but if you want to, check back here soon because I will be posting mine.

Of all the many splendid things to do directly in Boston itself, this is the very top of my list. This man fought for a people whose poetry had not yet been written. If you don’t know much about him, rent the 1989 film Glory, which is a relatively close adaptation of his life with usual Hollywood embellishments.

The above video is amazing to me – not just because of the clip selection used which is admirable – but because of the way the music enhances the sentiment. “Collapse Light into Earth,” is the name of the song and although it seems much more like a romantic song shared between parting lovers, it certainly is a metaphor for something much deeper.

Jesus said, “Let your light shine before men so that might see your good deeds and give glory to your Father in heaven.” Such a light spurns us to greatness and may we find the courage to let it shine... to collapse the very essence of light into our earthy beings, then let the best of us out to burn brightly for others -- especially those with no voice.

“Nothing is plainer than the need to fuse the States into the only reliable identity:  a moral and artistic one.”

 ~ Walt Whitman (with some minor embellishments for ease of reading)

Is Ignorance Bliss?

Philosopher’s Hall stands in downtown Philadelphia and I may not have time to blog about it, but I promise to at least post pictures. Established by Benjamin Franklin and now most widely recognized as the American Philosophical Society, I gotta say that peering at the bricks of this 270 year old place is going to be fun.

But what’s the point really? There’s been no shortage of deep thinkers over the bulk of American history, at least not until maybe the last forty years. It’s not like that highbrow stuff has opened very many doors to human progress – and what doors it has opened most find too grueling and tiresome to enter.

One of the most fascinating things about Whitman to me is his constant, absolute refusal to debate the deeper issues. For Whitman, the deepest philosophy was written into his body and into Nature, and their story existed not to answer any question – to Whitman there wasn’t much of a question at all – there was only the need to “be.” It was as if he knew the old Japanese proverb which states that, "A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." Whitman is consistent in his debasement of thinking that runs too deep:

“Logic and sermons never convince – the damp of night drives deeper to my soul.”

“A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.”

“I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived thousands of years ago….”

Philosopher’s Hall is going to be a real treat for me because I can’t quite side with Whitman here; however, I have to wonder if it isn’t the general malaise from exposure to metaphysics that spurns this trip to begin with. Whitman’s hold on me likely stems from this idea that too much thinking keeps a person from simply “being.”

Doubly fascinating for me is our old recorded story of man’s proverbial fall from grace, which detailed not some violent, unexplained outburst – nor some twisted sexual deviance. It wasn’t man's greed or his divorces or his bad parenting or his failure to build a church and worship… at the heart of it was eating from a tree that granted nothing other than knowledge. And God's warning was clear - that tree will ultimately devour you. Eden for Whitman wasn’t just the absence of suffering and sin; it was a placidity that comes when the mind isn’t overly preoccupied with knowing too many things.

I’m not sure I fully understand this, hence the preoccupation. I am fairly sure no one reading this rambling will understand it either as I have undoubtedly muddied the water. J

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.

I am large. I contain multitudes…”

Walt Whitman

Rough New Prizes

Counting down days to my trip! Tonight I pulled about six military MRE meals out of the freezer and started de-thawing them; can’t wait to blog more about those after I actually eat one. I had a few options in planning this trip that included hotel stays in the center of townships, nice restaurants, and maybe all the “relaxing” elements of a trip to the northeast – even offers to stay in the homes of family and friends in the area.

I’ve opted for something a bit more outrageous, but certainly something closer to my roots. A little two-man tent, a few campfires at night, and a little sideways-tilted chemical cooker packed with dehydrated calories and some mysterious crystals that when mixed with water form something called “Base Beverage Powder,” an apparent electrolyte enhancer. I suppose our military men and woman could tell me more about them, although this certainly won’t be the first time I have turned to an MRE for nourishment. Seriously though, are dehydrated meals self-care?

I do wonder how it is I’m able to refer to my trip as self-care, when I am more or less subjecting myself to conditions and meals that will be less than comfortable. The truth is that I have always been terrible at self-care. This includes a lot of bad habits that need to be dropped precisely BECAUSE they bring comfort and ease. I’ve got to get these things sorted and put in order so that I can be the best pastor I can be.

“Roughing it” can actually be a source of self-care when it’s aimed specifically at a spiritual condition. This is also one of the reasons that Walden Pond is on my trip ticket. Henry David Thoreau once wrote:

“Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind."

I suspect this may be generally true, although I am certain that exceptions apply. It does seem to me that character is produced most efficiently on the other side of difficulty and that most of us pursue comfort over difficulty when given the chance.

Part of my journey has to be centered on questions regarding the comforts I need to select, the comforts I need to reject, and the wisdom to tell the difference between the two. I’m just not certain I can go all the way to the bottom of those kinds of questions in the comfort of a bed, anesthetized by a four-course meal and a couple of glasses of red wine.

I guess I’ll find out between “beef briskets” and crackers that have a six year shelf life. Yummy.

“Listen! I will be honest with you;

I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;

These are the days that must happen to you….”

~ Walt Whitman