Still At It

Hi. I haven't forgotten you. The next installment of What I Did and How I Felt About It is . . . on the way. There's no shortage of grist for the mill, nor of Nietzschean life-affirming stressors, some of which may yet prove fit for online consumption. Or not.

Still, goodness abounds. It's hardly a bad thing to eat breakfast in your lounge (Kiwi for "living room") and catch, through the bare wintered limbs of the trees outside the window, and under the pink glow of sunrise, a glimpse of golden waters. Harbor view!

See you soon.

The Soul of Wit

My mother-in-law says my blog “has too many words.” She laughed in telling me this, realizing that words are, after all, the chief currency of most blogs. She just wanted to see some photos from our most recent trip to New Zealand. Later, it occurred to me that her assessment may have been directed not so much at the blog but its author instead.

The other day I went out for my usual meditation at the Quaker meeting house near the office. As I was about to take my seat on the front porch, I saw that two men were cleaning and painting a newly installed fence by the road. They belonged to Millennium Restoration, the outfit that had recently applied the same treatment to the fence bordering the graveyard. Wanting to preserve my privacy, I kept walking. I also noticed, in the field across the street, a clearing filled with stones arranged in a familiar, winding pattern.

One of the men, seeing my new intent, pointed to the rings of stone.

“What is that?” Millennium asked.

“A meditation labyrinth,” I answered. Deep creases formed on his brow.

“What?”

“A meditation labyrinth,” I repeated.

“A . . . lab-inth? What’s that?”

At this point a competent rhetorician, or a rational adult human, upon sizing up his audience, would give the shortest possible answer so as to make good his escape. I wish I could tell you this is what happened. Alas, herewith did I launch into a telling of the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur.

Fortunately, I managed to detect that the glint in the man’s eye was not rapture but rather the light of the burning sun under which he was toiling. So I quickly swerved into a line about needing to clear my mind and get away from the office for a few moments. He griped good-naturedly about the heat, but I pointed out, trying to be helpful, that at least he got to spend his time outdoors.

I took my leave and Millennium bid me “good luck.” I found this a potentially ominous thing to say, for what divine assistance would I require in traversing a path on which one cannot get lost? I reached the labyrinth, and just then a red-tailed hawk screeched and took flight from its perch high above the trees shading the cemetery. (Amazingly, this would happen again in exactly the same way later in the week.) I took this as a countering good sign.

I proceeded to wend my way through the labyrinth. And just as I reached the center and a suitable degree of “no mind,” a jarring sound from the outer world penetrated my consciousness.

“AFLACK!”

It was Millennium. I didn’t look up from the stones, only smiled at the well-meaning intrusion. And reminded myself not to tell him, on my journey back, about that poor fellow named Yorick.

(And all this to say: trip pictures are up! Enjoy.)

100

I had this entry nearly in the can when our laptop contracted a particularly virulent virus, and thus I am posting through extremely non-standard means and under the most trying of conditions. Fortunately, no pedaling is involved. However, I can’t help but feel like I’m sending these words from a distant star. As soon as the ‘puter is back from the shop, you can be sure I will include a few quasi-Sebaldian illustrations.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean to say is: Welcome, and thank you for joining me on this, the 100th entry on Holy Embers. It’s hard to believe there are already so many, and harder still to judge the correct approach for the occasion. Do I go for the epic or the intimate? Do I take this opportunity to catalogue the Austerities of Ryan Rasmussen, or review the Top 100 Films I’ve Seen Part Of, or . . . ?

It’s a strange thing, this blogging. Unless you’re treating it as an out-and-out diary, there will naturally be items left out, hidden, squirreled away for an auspicious moment, to say nothing of sidestepping the risk of prematurely giving voice to those victories along the way. But perhaps this is as good a time as any to share a confession: I am not the only Ryan Rasmussen out there.

My crack blogitorial team has looked into the situation and discovered that there are in fact 99 other Ryan Rasmussens on the Internet. Let me be clear: I am not from Chicago nor do I bill myself as “the world’s greatest salesman.” I am also pretty sure that we are not a secret subset of the Templars (or at least I haven’t been invited). Nonetheless, whatever charms I offer up in these pages have been sufficient to garner me the title of Number Two Ryan Rasmussen on the Internet. (For a time I actually wore the Yellow Jersey myself, but the Chicagoan swiped it while I was touring New Zealand. You can’t be too careful.)

I am well aware of the responsibility this carries. After all, these pages have been visited by individuals from no less than six continents. True, they sometimes come searching for clarity on matters such as the “purple bag along 422,” but others are on a quest for something more profound, for insights of a more philosophical nature, pondering “what can the strongest man not hold forever” and “what is the function of finland.” I would like to think I have provided something of an answer from time to time. (Of course, my great aunt once told me that my writing was “philosophical,” but I don’t think she was worried about Finland.)

When I began this blog I didn’t know what I was getting into, or that I would enjoy it so much. In fact, it was only a few months ago that I realized I have a bona fide hobby. Sure, it supports the screenwriting, but it’s also become something else, a focal point for making sense of the journey. And this entry, I suppose, is really a roundabout way of acknowledging that you could have chosen to visit any of the other Ryan Rasmussens on the Web, but you didn’t. Thanks for stopping by.

In gratitude,

“knight in training ryan rasmussen”