Brand's Blog

Walking Honey

Honey and I walk side by side, silently, in the still night air, distant cars, not so distant chirpings, the occasional street lamp, and stars above. The night sky had just a hint of the delight of the milky way, something that is impossible to see any further north on the eastern seaboard. For the next 30 minutes life and the universe will be simple. just me, the dark, imposing trees, the cover of impossibly distant stars, and the brief glimpses of brightly lit living rooms filled with televisions, dishes, people, like series of a dozen short films, all literally 'slice of life' movies, made for my benefit.

When I was young, I thought all of the worlds problems could be solved by information: gathering information, making information accessible to all, making it posssible for anybody to communicate anything to anybody, making it possible for all of the worlds knowledge to be available to all. That would be all we would need for utopia, a perfect society, a perfect world.

Obviously, I was badly mistaken. We have what I dreamed about, in spades.  Instead of not enough information, we have too much. Every day many of us drown daily in the global infosphere. Hundreds of emails, spams, web sites to check out, phone calls to return, IMs, voicemails, software to download, files to move, a cacophony of information burying our contemplative spirit.   The rule of unintended consequences takes over, where the solution to one problem creates others.

How do we filter the flood, focus on what is important, and exclude what is not?  How to we not get buried in minutia?

By walking Honey at night. By seeing the universe, the universe that doesnt care whether the wireless protocols are compatible, that doesnt even care of the entire human race lives or dies. The universe that gave birth to us, is our home, and may just yet provide us with a great sandbox to play with.

The universe. Thats what matters. Our relationship with the universe, with the unfathomable distance, age, size.

So I ignore the rest of my life, and focus on the universe,  arcing above me between the shadows of trees and houses, that looks the same to me as it did to julius ceasar, to homer.

I focus on that, and on Honey. by my side. walking in the dark.

Monday will be my one-month anniversary in North Carolina. I wonder what I can say that is unique and interesting, since my experiences are not unusual. But they are mine, that makes them unique.

I have lived in this rental house for almost a month, and until this morning, I never sat on the deck, the deck that overlooks a pond, a pond that is surrounded by trees, trees that sway and dance as the wind catches, a pond that shimmers as the same wind brushes lightly across the surface, the same wind that ruffles the feathers of the blue heron on the far side of the pond, the wind that brings a flock of geese, geese that bleat once as a kind of prelanding final check, legs down and locked, wings fully extended, on the glideslope, 18 webbed feet all slam into the water simultaneously, a splash, a carrier landing, and then silence. Oh yes, except the wind. And the cars, which are filtered out of my hearing.

I have been here for a month and not seen. I have been here for a month and I have not done 1/10th of my plans, I have not started my book, I have not read my physics textbook, I have not written that article I promised, I have not lifted weights an hour a day, I have not unpacked, I have not moved in. I have watched my house grow organically from the ground, by a dozen workmen who have accents straight out of 'Junebug', two of who cackle with glee when I bring honey by. They love honey. Honey loves them. Well, honey loves anybody that pets her. But perhaps they do not know that.

A house that in numbers is modest, but in appearance is anything but. It sits on a rise in the ground, around a bend where it is first hidden from view, and then makes its appearance, the garage much larger than it really is because it is so close before you can first see the whole house. It bothers me, its appearance. Perhaps, once surrounded by an army of plants, interesting plants, colorful plants, and yes, even some trees, it will fit in, pretend to be one with nature as a bear tries to hide in a flock of ballerinas.

I wonder if I will fit in. Few people I meet have a strong accent, so my midwest tang I believe is no real barrier. But, there is one issue that makes it difficult here. It seems like everyone in North Carolina is a gardener. Everyone I have met knows plants, knows gardens, has opinions, and expects that everyone else speaks that language. I do not. The local newspaper has a daily section called home and garden. But it is usually about the latter.  I feel as I felt in Spain, completely cut off due to my inability to understand Spanish, unable to comprehend what even a Spanish child hears and comprehends without a moments thought.

I never dreamed of living in North Carolina. I always imagined myself in some rugged western state, a cabin in the woods, a satellite dish plugging me into the infosphere. But here I am, a state with character, a state with history, a state with relationships, and complexity. I feel sometimes like this is where I was supposed to wind up. I just didn’t know it until now.

--Brand