Tag Archives: Storytelling

A Walk About In My Mind

A Walk About In My Mind by Harold Stearley

Who, then, is “animate” and who “inanimate”? Within the assembly of the Lotus, all are present without division. In the case of grass, trees and the soil . . . whether they merely lift their feet or energetically traverse the long path, they will all reach Nirvana.

— Zhanran the Sixth Patriarch of Tendai Buddhism (1711-82)

*****

As I was walking along the creek’s bank, my head was in a swirl.  So much internal noise, while the outside world remained placid.  Utterly calm and quiet.  The only noises came from the trickling, crystal-clear, emerald water.  The hum of seventeen-year cicadas.  The occasional bee, wearing a cloak of pollen and having a belly full of sweet nectar, barely able to carry its own weight on its flight path back to the hive.  And from the trees swaying, or rather dancing, in time with the Chief Western Wind. 

A Black Swallowtail fritters past, in complete silence.  Not a care in the world.

But, oh so much internal clatter.  An orchestra of out-of-tune instruments each playing a different symphony.  Does this tumult of turbulence comprise what we’ve come to call our Consciousness?  Does all of this internal noise make us “Aware?”  And “Aware” of what exactly?

>>>>><<<<< 

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Shackled

Shackled by Harold Stearley at https://earthwalkingworld.wordpress.com/2021/06/29/shackled/

“Yesterday I got a call from the outside world,

but I said no in thunder.

I was a dog on a short chain,

and now there is no chain.”

Jim Harrison, Montana poet

>>>>> <<<<<

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“Gray Days” . . . Revisited

Last year I began a tradition. A tradition of repeating words. Words that I had written two years ago to describe the day and the season we were entering into.

While Winter is not officially upon us yet, the days of Autumn are winding down. Grandfather Sun is moving South. And the atmosphere is shifting into Gray.

I wrote about this “Gray.” It’s “color.” It’s feel. It’s taste. It’s sounds. It’s moods. And eventually, it’s brightness and it’s “Inner Fire.”

So as we enter this season of hibernation before the awakening and birth of new life in Spring, I share these words again. 🙂

I hope you will enjoy them.

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Hello Dear Friends

Hello to all my friends in cyberspace!  I wanted to apologize for not being around lately.

You see, I’m in the middle of a Walkabout.

Traveling season.

It is a bit different this year since we are confronted with COVID-19.  Social distancing, per se, has not changed in my wilderness hikes, but it has definitely shaped travel and I do miss out on the human contact and story exchanges that I would normally have at the end of the day in some public forum.

I’m changing locations more frequently this year too.

Less of a base camp and more of an eternal romp.

I’ve also been in many places where I’ve had no connectivity.   Being unplugged does have some nice advantages.  For one, I’ve not missed all of the hateful commentary perfusing the Net.  I’ve also been able to meditate easier, although one can travel internally too far if one is not careful.

I’ll write that story later and tell about how Mother Earth dramatically called my attention to it and how I needed to be “grounded.”  Still healing . . .

On a metaphysical level, for the past couple of years, the Bear has been visiting me in various forms.  And this continues with a new materialization this season.  I’ve recently been blessed with watching some Elephant Seals and I discovered that Marine Mammals, known as “Pinnipeds,” or the “Fin-Footed Ones,” all descend from a common Ancestor called “Enaliarctos.”

Which means “Bear of the Sea.”

It had Bear-like teeth and used flippers to swim.

Apparently the Spanish settlers in California called Pinnipeds “Lobos Marinos.” Or, “Sea Wolfs.”

So comparisons to land mammals is how we land creatures relate.  At least we recognized the power of these mighty apex predators.

Whatever you wish to call them, they are amazing.  Breathing and breeding on land, spending months in motion amongst the waves on the hunt, and being able to withstand the ocean’s crushing pressures for extended periods.  Quite the adaptations.

Us Two-Leggeds might learn a thing or two from these guys.

So anyway, I am crafting stories in my head as I go, but it will be a little while before I get them on “paper.”

Please don’t disappear or give up on me.  I will return . . .

LOGOz

Photo: The Pale Evening Primrose.  I encountered these beauties in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  They are armed with very sharp thorns.  The Beauty and the Beast 🙂

1-Wildflower - Pale Evening Primrose - 1+C1

Calm

Calm By Harold Stearley at https://earthwalkingworld.wordpress.com

As he was pulled backward, I saw my chance.  Even through my half-swollen eyes.

I fired off two right punches, as hard as I could, and they found their mark on his left jaw.  The look on his face turned from anger to full-blown rage as I turned and bolted down the stairs . . .

***

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Where is “Away?”

I think I was about six years old when one of my brothers and I decided to run away from home.

Was this foreshadowing?

I have two brothers, and the one closest in age to me had gotten into some spat with my mom.  Dad, the Lieutenant Colonel, was at the Air Base working, and I’ve no doubt that it was my brother who had misbehaved.  He wasn’t taking the motherly admonishment too well.  And there is always that dreaded, “Wait until your father gets home” threat.

Dad was the enforcer.

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My Campfire – The Fire Within

By Harold Stearley at https://earthwalkingworld.wordpress.com

I don’t remember where I heard this expression.  Or perhaps I never did.  It may have sprung into the recesses of my mind.  From a dream.  A whisper from the wind.  An echo from the stars.  But I use it sparingly.  With depth of heart.  For it holds several meanings to me.

“You’re always welcome at my campfire.”

***

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Compulsion to Flee – Part 3 – Modernity and Hermitism?

I’ve been writing about that urge to roam.  To travel freely.  Unencumbered.  To experience the world through the lens of constant motion.

My first post in this series introduced the terms “Dromomania” and “Drapetomania,” which placed this desire squarely in the medical model for disease.  The word “disease” itself has been defined as: “a condition of the living animal or plant body, or of one of its parts, that impairs normal functioning and is typically manifested by distinguishing signs and symptoms” that is “not simply a direct result of physical injury.”  A disease has also been said to be “a particular quality, habit, or disposition regarded as adversely affecting a person or group of people.”*

And there are four main types of disease: infectious, deficiency, hereditary, and physiological diseases. Diseases can be communicable or non-communicable, and when we have absolutely no idea what causes one, we call it “idiopathic.”

And let’s not forget mental or psychogenic diseases.

In fact, the suffix “mania,” in dromomania and drapetomania, arguably places the old terminology squarely in that category of mental illness.

So, is the compulsion to flee, to explore, to wander the world, a mental disorder?  And what are those so-afflicted fleeing from?

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Compulsion to Flee – Part 2 – Conversion or Reversion?

Picking up where I left off yesterday . . .

We’ve all heard the stories of Cortez conquering the Aztecs and Pizzaro conquering the Incas, but we often only hear the stories of those who are regarded as conquerors.  The victors.  Even if their acts were entirely atrocious and inhumane.

History is distorted that way.

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Compulsion to Flee

I often write about my travels and the things I experience while traveling.  The adventure of it. 😊  Particularly getting back to Nature and hiking in the wilderness.  Something I do whenever possible.  And the urge to travel, or to continue traveling once on the road, is always at the surface.

Lingering, like a Tiger ready to pounce on its prey.

Frankly, I like that feeling.  For it drives me to drive.  Gives me reason and purpose.  An impetus to greet Grandfather Sun each day.

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My Mom Had Guts!

International Women’s Day was yesterday.  To honor it last year, I made a post about my daughter.  Today, I’ll honor my mother.

My mom grew up on a farm in southern Michigan.  The closest “big town” was Sylvania, Ohio.  As soon as she could, she left the farm and found work in Toledo.  While there, she also sold War Bonds  for WWII and was a “War Bond Captain.”

But this wasn’t exciting enough for her.

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