Category: The Pencil Pit

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/23/23

Confined Spaces – From Gaza to Knox’s Ordeal

In the quiet sanctuary of the Pencil Pit this morning, warmed by a new heater, my mind wanders back to the contrasting experiences of confinement that I encountered yesterday. The solitude of this barn, my chosen place of reflection, starkly contrasts with the stories of enforced and tragic confinements I absorbed.

An article I read yesterday from The New York Times about the crisis in Gaza lingered in my thoughts. Children like Khaled Joudeh, trapped not only in the physical rubble of a war-torn region but also in a situation far beyond their control or understanding. The image of Khaled, grieving beside his family, encapsulates a confinement of the most harrowing kind – trapped in a cycle of violence and loss, a life dictated by forces outside one’s control.

As I drove to Lowe’s yesterday, the narrative of confinement continued, this time through the podcast recounting Amanda Knox’s ordeal. Her story – one of wrongful accusation and years spent in an Italian jail – is a different kind of confinement. It’s a mental and physical imprisonment, compounded by the weight of injustice and misunderstanding. Knox’s voice, recounting her experiences, was a stark reminder of how freedom, something we often take for granted, can be so fragile.

These stories of confinement, both physical and metaphorical, make me reflect on the nature of freedom. In my barn, the Pencil Pit, I find a liberating solitude, a space where my thoughts and words are free to roam. This freedom, however, is a privilege, one that many, like the children in Gaza or Knox in her cell, are brutally denied.

It leads me to ponder the resilience of the human spirit in the face of such trials. There’s a certain strength, an indomitable will, that both Khaled and Knox exhibit – a refusal to be completely subdued by their circumstances. Yet, the unfairness of their situations, the pain of being confined and constrained by external forces, is deeply troubling.

As I sit here, my thoughts are a mix of gratitude for my own freedom and a deep empathy for those who are unjustly confined. These reflections are not just idle musings; they are a call to awareness and action. They remind me that while some of us have the luxury to build our sanctuaries, others are fighting battles for their basic freedoms.

Today’s mental meandering is a somber journey through the extremes of human experience. It is a recognition of the spaces we occupy – some chosen, some imposed – and the profound impact they have on our lives. In the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the early morning tranquility, I’m reminded that every word I write, every thought I explore, is a testament to the freedom that I have, and a tribute to those who are unjustly deprived of theirs.

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/22/23

The Insurrection of Curiosity

In the early hours of dawn, as I sit in the Pencil Pit, my barn transformed into a haven of thought and reflection, I ponder a quote by Nabokov that I stumbled upon: “Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.” These words, piquant and profound, resonate within the walls of this rustic retreat, where curiosity is not just welcomed but revered.

Yesterday’s experiences seemed to dance around this very theme. My 16-mile bike ride, a ritualistic embrace of nature and endurance, was unusually challenged by rain. Clad in a cheap rainsuit, ostensibly a shield against the elements, I found myself battling not just the external downpour but an internal one too. Drenched in sweat, every pedal stroke became a rebellion against discomfort, against the urge to seek shelter. It was as if the very act of pushing through the rain was an insubordination against the body’s natural inclination for comfort and dryness.

This physical challenge oddly mirrored my mental explorations later in the day, lounging in my bedroom chair, diving deep into Sam Harris’ Waking Up app. The episode titled ‘Beginning Again’ offered a contemplative journey into mindfulness and the power of resetting one’s thoughts. It struck me then how curiosity – the kind that propels us to question, explore, and even defy our comfort zones – is a form of beginning again. Each time we allow our minds to wander into uncharted territories, question ingrained beliefs, or challenge the status quo, we are, in essence, starting anew. We are shedding the old skin of complacency and conformity.

Curiosity, in its relentless pursuit of ‘what if’ and ‘why not,’ is indeed an act of insubordination against the mundane, the accepted, and the unchallenged. It’s a rebellion against the intellectual lethargy that often seeps into our lives unnoticed. Whether it’s questioning the mechanics of a rainsuit during a deluge or contemplating philosophical insights about mindfulness, curiosity propels us into a state of perpetual growth and learning.

In the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the tools of my trade – books, notes, and, of course, pencils – I realize that this space is a physical manifestation of curiosity. It’s where thoughts are not just born but also nurtured and challenged. It’s where the insubordination of curiosity isn’t just an act of defiance but a celebration of the human spirit’s unquenchable thirst for understanding.

As I embark on today’s journey, both in the Pencil Pit and beyond, I carry with me Nabokov’s words as a reminder of the transformative power of curiosity. It is, after all, in the questioning, the exploring, and the rebelling that we truly begin again, continuously redefining ourselves and our understanding of the world around us.

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/21/23

As I sit in the Pencil Pit, the early morning light casting soft shadows around my barn-turned-sanctuary, my mind meanders through the events of yesterday, each a metaphor in its own right, each a lesson subtly veiled.

My thoughts first drift to a casual remark made at the Walgreen’s drive-thru, about Canadian geese that, contrary to their migratory nature, never leave. This offhand comment, punctuated by the distant squawks of the geese, stayed with me. It’s fascinating how, like these geese, certain elements of our psyche – be it fear, resentment, or outdated beliefs – choose to roost permanently in our minds. They linger, often unnoticed, long past their natural season to depart. It’s a gentle reminder of the mental clutter we ought to clear, yet somehow, it remains, nested comfortably in the crevices of our thoughts.

Later, in the attic, amidst the chore of stuffing insulation into the exhaust fan, I was struck by the likeness of the white, blown insulation to clouds. It was a moment of unexpected beauty, a reminder of how perspective can transform the mundane into the extraordinary. It made me think about perception – how the way we choose to see things can alter our entire experience. There, in the dusty corners of the attic, amidst the routine task, lay a whimsical landscape, a sky within a home.

The day ended in the garden with Jon and Donna, our hands working in unison to remove the tomato cages, making way for the planting of Crimson Clover. This act, simple yet profound, is a dance with the rhythm of nature – a preparation for renewal and growth. Planting a winter cover crop is an investment in the future; it’s about nurturing the soil, even when it lies dormant under the cold sky. It symbolizes hope, care, and the foresight to prepare today for tomorrow’s harvest.

These moments, as ordinary as they may seem, are threads in the tapestry of daily life. The geese that don’t migrate remind us to let go of what no longer serves us. The cloud-like insulation speaks of finding wonder in the everyday. The act of preparing the garden soil is a testament to the cycles of nature and life – of preparation, care, and eventual rejuvenation.

In the quiet of the Pencil Pit, as I reflect on these seemingly disparate experiences, I find a common theme – the importance of perspective, the beauty in the ordinary, and the continuous cycle of holding on and letting go. It’s remarkable how life, in its unassuming way, offers lessons at every turn, in every attic corner, every garden patch, and even in the flight patterns of geese.

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/20/23

Sitting in the quietude of the Pencil Pit before dawn, my mind wanders through the vast cosmos, far beyond the confines of this rustic barn. The phrase “everyone loses everything” lingers in my thoughts, now intertwined with the staggering scale of the universe I pondered yesterday.

I watched a video that put the size of our Milky Way Galaxy into perspective. Imagine the entire United States (just the lower 48 states) representing the Milky Way. In this grand scale, our entire solar system is a mere speck around Kansas City, Kansas. It struck me profoundly. On the fingertip of a person, amidst the ridges and valleys of a fingerprint, a tiny yellow ball represented our Sun – smaller than a grain of sand, yet in reality almost 900,000 miles in diameter. The immensity is unfathomable.

Lying in bed last night, I couldn’t shake off the image of our solar system, all seven planets and their orbits, fitting on a man’s fingertip. In this grand cosmic scale, the significance of a single human, or even humanity as a whole, becomes infinitesimally small. We are but a fleeting whisper in the boundless universe, one of billions of galaxies, each with its own billions of stars and planets.

And yet, here I am, in the Pencil Pit, pondering the finite nature of our existence. “Everyone loses everything” – the phrase seems even more poignant against the backdrop of the cosmos. Our time, our possessions, our very beings are transient in this vast universe. But rather than diminishing our lives, this thought imbues them with a profound significance. Each moment we live, each connection we make, every line we write is a miracle against the canvas of this almost endless universe.

This perspective, from the scale of galaxies down to the simple act of writing in my barn, is a humbling reminder of our place in the cosmos. It grounds me in the present, reinforcing the importance of cherishing every fleeting moment. In the grand scheme of things, we may be insignificant, but in the realm of our personal experiences, every moment is vast and meaningful. This is where the true spirituality lies – not in clinging to what we will eventually lose, but in fully embracing the now, the ephemeral beauty of existence in a universe so vast, it’s beyond our full comprehension.