My Sinisterhand

Life is not a Spectator Sport

Sinisterhand — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 15:41:38 +0000

We are constantly being warned to check with our physicians before beginning athletics. Play and games evidently can be risky business. What we are not told are the risks of not beginning athletics-that the most dangerous sport of all is watching it from the stands.
The weakest among us can become some kind of athlete, but only the strongest can survive as spectators. Only the hardiest can withstand the perils of inertia, inactivity, and immobility. Only the most resilient can cope with the squandering of time, the deterioration in fitness, the loss of creativity, the frustration of emotions, and the dulling of moral sense that can afflict the dedicated spectator.
Physiologists have suggested that only those who can pass the most rigorous physical examination can safely follow the sedentary life. Man was not made to remain at rest. Inactivity is completely unnatural to the body. And what follows is a breakdown of the body’s equilibrium.
When the beneficial effects of activity on the heart and circulation and indeed on all the body’s systems are absent, everything measurable begins to go awry.
Up goes the girth of the waist and the body weight. Up goes blood pressure and heart rate. Up goes cholesterol and triglycerides. Up goes everything you would like to go down and down everything you would like to go up. Down goes vital capacity and oxygen consumption. Down goes flexibility and efficiency, stamina and strength. Fitness fast becomes a memory.
The seated spectator is not a thinker, he is a knower. Unlike the athlete who is still seeking his own experience, who leaves himself open to truth, the spectator has closed the ring. His thinking has become rigid knowing. He has enclosed himself in bias and partisanship and prejudice. He has ceased to grow.
And it is growth he needs most to handle the emotions thrust upon him, emotions he cannot act out in any satisfactory way. He is , you see, an incurable distance from the athlete and participation in the effort is the athlete’s release, the athlete’s catharsis. He is watching people who have everything he wants and cannot get. They are having all the fun: the fun of playing, the fun of winning, even the fun of losing. They are having the physical exhaustion which is the quickest way to fraternity and equality, the exhaustion which permits you to be not only a good winner but a good loser.
Because the spectator cannot experience what the athlete is experiencing, the fan is seldom a good loser. The emphasis on winning is therefore much more of a problem for the spectator than the athlete. The losing fan, filled with emotions which have no healthy outlet, is likely to take it out on his neighbor, the nearest inanimate object, the umpires, the stadium or the game itself. It is easier to dry out a drunk, take someone off hard drugs or watch a three-pack-a-day smoker go cold turkey than live with a fan during a long losing streak.
Should a spectator pass all these physical and mental and emotional tests, he still has another supreme challenge to his integrity. He is part of a crowd, part of a mob. He is with those the coach in The Games called, “The nothingmen, those oafs in the stands filling their bellies.” And when someone is in a crowd, out go his individual standards of conduct and morality. He acts in concert with his fellow spectators and descends two or three rungs on the evolutionary ladder. He slips backward down the development tree.
From the moment you become a spectator, everything is downhill.

-George Sheehan

Purpose.

Sinisterhand — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 11:29:26 +0000

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Dante’s Inferno, Dali Style!

Sinisterhand — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 01:10:39 +0000

This past weekend, Maria and I had the opportunity to see Salvador Dali’s interpretation through paintings of Dante’s Inferno. The Fayetteville Museum of Art has had the entire collection on display since February 13th and it runs through the 28th. It was a small display and crowded, but seeing these works of Dali was a nice experience in such an out of the way place as Fayetteville, NC. I was intrigued by the style of the works with which the famous surrealist used and was not closely familiar with the collection or its history. It was a controversial project perhaps in scope even as controversial as the writings of the Inferno by Dante. There we also four other original Dali works on loan from a few Fayetteville residents. I was impressed with the detail of each piece and the mix of pen and watercolor. I have always been very fond of Dante’s Inferno and was very pleased to see this interpretation of such a classic piece of literature. A friend of mine from work also saw the exhibit and comparing notes was rather enlightening. He was more educated on the history of the works and was able to articulate more of the story behind the whole process. If this exhibit comes your way, it is definitely worth going to see.

-Jason

Worst winter? I say best winter!

Sinisterhand — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 01:47:26 +0000

Ready to hit the slopes!

This past weekend, Maria and I took a trip up to Boone, NC. The snow there is amazing this year! We left our house around 8 a.m. Saturday morning and headed west. Boone is about 4 hours away nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina near the Virginia and Tennessee borders. The snow storm covered almost all of North Carolina and was even felt in Wilmington on the coast. The roads were quite icy and we had to travel at a slow pace for about the first half of the trip until we reached Greensboro. We finally arrived at Boone about 12:30 p.m. and headed for Appalachian Ski Mountain Resort. I was due to meet a friend there to ski the rest of the day. Maria took a quick picture of me after I changed in the parking lot and then she left me there for the day. Skiing is not her cup of tea, so she had other things in mind like spas, massages and pedicures.

Appalachian is a very small ski resort compared to the resorts out west in the Rockies, but the snow was just as good. It was dry packed powder and perfect for me to get warmed up. I stayed and skied until about 4:30 p.m. and then my friend, Rich, and I left. He dropped me off at the hotel. We had dinner at a small Italian restaurant and then I passed out in the hotel.

The next morning Rich and I decided to go to Ski Beech which is the highest ski resort on the east coast. The snow was even better there. The slopes were nicer too. However, snowboarders were ten times as numerous and this always has made me nervous. I guess the generalization is that snowboarders hog the slopes. I can understand this perception. It makes me a little nervous and I am always on my guard when to trails joined each other. Last winter in when I was in Utah on a ski trip, a friend of mine was blindsided by a snowboard as he was on the precipice of a black diamond trail. He was pushed up and over the edge and slide about 50 feet down the slope. One of his skis was cut and gouged where the snowboard collided with his. After having experienced this first hand, I made a mental note to always be cautious around snowboarders.

What a horizon!

We finished skiing about 4 p.m. on Sunday and left for the hotel. Unbeknown to me, Maria was very sick all day long. We are not sure what it was but it came and went over about a 48 hour period. She could not eat or drink all day Sunday until late that evening. The next we left Boone for home around 8 a.m. after having a small breakfast in a diner near our hotel. The snow started coming down rather quickly that morning and it was getting worse. We made our way down from the mountains and past the Blue Ridge Parkway in a haze of snow. We made it home safely from a great weekend in the mountains. I am looking forward to next year’s snow. I hope it is a bad (good) as this year’s. I know I have not finished my Cape Fear adventure story, and I will. I have had a lag in my writing lately. I will get to it though, so do not worry. It is coming.

-Jason

The Cape Fear (part 1)

Sinisterhand — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 12:30:06 +0000

After living in the Fort Bragg area of North Carolina for several years, I thought that finding an outdoor adventure that was challenging and unique would be difficult. My problem was my inability to see where I live as something more than just my home. After living here for a while, I found that I had become complacent and bored and believed that I had to go to some far off place to experience the wild. I could not have been more wrong. The adventure was there and waiting for me, but just needed to be realized and grasped.

With the help of Maria, my wife, and a couple of friends, I discovered my adventure. After returning, I am left with a craving for so much more! Even though this took place several months ago, I want to tell you my story here.

I had been wanting a kayak for quite some time, even more so since Maria and I paddled the inter-coastal waterway near Topsail, North Carolina the summer before. Longing for adventure, my good friend, Scott, and I purchased a kayak earlier this year. I saw an advertisement for 20% off all canoes and kayaks at Gander Mountain. After about an hour of perusing the selections they offered, I chose the Patriot Angler by Perception. We were both so excited the day we bought them. Barely an hour after getting them home from the store, we took them out to Mott Lake on Fort Bragg for a test run.

The first time out was a little awkward, but I was determined. Scott and I kayaked for the next few weekends around the small lakes on Fort Bragg getting to know the unfamiliar vessels, learning techniques and familiarizing ourselves with their maneuverability. We even ventured as far as Jordan Lake, east of Pittsboro, North Carolina, and camped out overnight on the bank. With our new kayaks barely broken in and our hunger for excitement, we decided we were ready for a real trip.

Scott and I began planning, and that by itself was exhilarating. We both enjoyed the anticipation as much as we hoped we would enjoy the trip. We selected a date, early June, and then began to sketch out the things we knew we wanted our trip to include.

One, we wanted it to be at least overnight but remained open to an additional night, also. Two, we wanted to move through some lonely, remote wilderness. I wanted to see the land fresh and rustic, imagining I was its first visitor, feeling not unlike a pioneer settler might. Three, because we were still a little uncertain of our capabilities, we did not want to be too far from familiar surroundings. Neither Scot, nor I, was sure how fast and how far we could move in one day. Four, we wanted to conclude our trip as close as possible to Fayetteville. Since we live near there, it just made sense to be able to wind down close to home for convenience’s sake. Finally, and quite possibly the most important factor of which Scott and I were in complete agreement, we wanted to have as much fun as possible. Deployment to Iraq for another rotation would soon be upon me, and I would not be home again for several months. Fun would be something I would miss. I wanted to take with me something on which I could reminisce.

We considered a few creeks around the Fayetteville area, but since we were looking for a challenge, nothing seemed to suit us. One day after work, I stopped by Scott’s house with some topographical maps and we talked about the Cape Fear River. It contained certain sections that might fit well into our plan. Maria mentioned that we might start at Raven Rock State Park, just west of Lillington, North Carolina, and paddle back down to Fayetteville. This sounded perfect. Now it was time for the gathering of some “Intel”.

We allowed ourselves a week to obtain information. We talked to friends, scoured the internet, and studied maps of the waterway. I had been to Raven Rock once before with Maria and remembered that the water was very low due to a drought in the region that year. We learned from the United States Geological Survey and a couple of other local agencies that for this time of year, the water was actually quite high. Next, we began to narrow down our entry point at Raven Rock and our pick up location at Fayetteville. We calculated an approximate 44-mile route from the Fish Traps at Raven Rock to the Person Street Bridge in downtown Fayetteville. Finally, our route was planned and our date was set. Things were really coming together. All that was left was to collect our gear and prepare our vessels.

Although the trip was relatively short in time and distance, we still wanted to be as prepared as possible for any unforeseen problems we might encounter. Because there was a limited amount of storage space, the task of selecting those things to carry along would have to be done well. The aft bulkhead of the kayak served as the perfect place to tuck away food and water. Simple deck rigging attached to the bow of the crafts allowed space where duffels could be stowed. With that little bit of added weight, the kayak actually seemed better balanced.

Scott suggested dehydrated meals from Mountain House. They carry easily and prepare super fast on a small camp stove. I own two different camp stoves; a PocketRocket, which uses compressed gas; and a SimmerLite, which uses white gas. I realized even then that I might be going a bit overboard carrying two stoves, but I wanted to also field test some of my gear for future adventures. Trail mix, beef jerky and my personal favorite, Superfood Slam Probars, would provide us with energy along the way. I placed the stove and my clothing in a pack and then covered the pack with an OR waterproof pack cover to protect it from splashing water. A standard US Army poncho liner and small one-man mosquito tent would suffice for sleeping. We packed all the gear into and onto our kayaks and prepared for the day we were going to leave.

To be continued…

Scars

Sinisterhand — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 09:12:02 +0000

Often times I find myself in a situation that leaves me with a mark of remembrance. Whether it is at a point of struggle or an instance of pain, I recount the experience over and over again as I examine the mark. I inspect closely the disfigured and misshapen form that once was and I remember. Sometimes they are too painful to look upon at first, with floods of emotion and memories that I cannot control. Other times they stand as standards of victories and accomplishments that I recall warmly. Regardless, they are a part of me. I count my scars and understand that it is through pain that we are brought here and it will be through pain we leave. Yet, I believe it will not be an eternal pain. The departing pain is the price that must be paid. It will be collected. There is no other recompense. Yet, it is through these scars that I find my struggle and journey most rewarding when the sun sets and I fall into that cousin of death. I awake the next day with just a little less tenderness, but always the memory and learning still.

A priori

Sinisterhand — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 15:35:08 +0000

Whatever is, is.
Nothing can both be and not be.
Everything must either be or not be.

An open dialogue

Sinisterhand — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 13:32:30 +0000

I don’t profess to have all the answers and for the most part I am glad I don’t. Yet, what is it that angers and annoys me so much about my worldview being trashed and tread upon like dirt? I believe it is disrespecting and insulting to both the belief and even more for the person who holds it. I find friends and people in general are more approachable to an open dialogue about philosophies, worldviews, and topics on life when I respect them and their beliefs as if they were my own. Out of love for them as my fellow man, it doesn’t make sense to try and pick apart or destroy what they hold dear and use to live their lives daily. Whether the subject is culture, ethics, religion, or societal issues, each one of us holds some sort of worldview of them. Only through open and honest dialogue in a public domain can we work through these ideas, testing each one rationally and logically for coherence and correspondence to the world around us.

Who will answer?

Sinisterhand — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 13:29:01 +0000

From the canyons of the mind,
We wander on and stumble blindly
Through the often-tangled maze
Of starless nights and sunless days,
While asking for some kind of clue
Or road to lead us to the truth,
But who will answer?

Side by side two people stand,
Together vowing, hand-in-hand
That love’s imbedded in their hearts,
But soon an empty feeling starts
To overwhelm their hollow lives,
And when they seek the hows and whys,
Who will answer?

On a strange and distant hill,
A young man’s lying very still.
His arms will never hold his child,
Because a bullet running wild
Has struck him down. And now we cry,
“Dear God, Oh, why, oh, why?”
But who will answer?

High upon a lonely ledge,
a figure teeters near the edge,
And jeering crowds collect below
To egg him on with, “Go, man, go!”
But who will ask what led him
To his private day of doom,
And who will answer?

If the soul is darkened
By a fear it cannot name,
If the mind is baffled
When the rules don’t fit the game,
Who will answer? Who will answer? Who will answer?

-Ed Ames

Of a child

Sinisterhand — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 05:48:14 +0000

The simplicity that comes with being a child is unnerving to most adults. The lack of control and the care-free sense would drive most of us insane. Their actions are simple and without regret, almost as if we, the learned and self aware, have forgotten how to act without reservation or hesitation. It amazes me to see the truth in a child’s ways. I do believe in choosing wisely and counting the cost of my actions. However, it seems to me that we have become enthralled with the decision making process and have left the actual choice out in the rain. We hold our heads high because we can process complex decisions and come to a rational and relative decision without using prejudice or emotion. Yet, we have lost the flavor of taking risks and being bold. I find that the journey is more enjoyable if I struggle all along the way. It prevents me from forgetting the journey and allows me to relish in my victories and learn from my losses.

Audaces Fortuna Juvat

-Jason