In retrospect, for instance, this morning, this little adventure of mine seems a bit wrong-headed, crazy and dumb. I should probably write about it in detail some time. I put myself in harm's way, got into some dicey situations, luckily, by the "grace of god," or just plum good luck, I emerged relatively unscathed. There were some amazingly cool encounters, and I also dodged a few catastrophic calamities. You know, it really was a mad adventure. I had no idea what I was doing, except, going West. I don't regret making the trip, I am still surprised I actually did it. If I remember correctly, I was stubborn and determined, and thought I "had to do it." I wouldn't try that today, and wouldn't recommend anyone else trying it either. It's dangerous out there, too many lonely and desperate folks out on the roads. I didn't know what I didn't know. It could have been a sad debacle.
Risky behavior. No doubt. Still, I lived to tell the tale.
Anyway, I am re-reading Pirsig's book now. Revisiting it to see if it still holds up, if it still seems wise and amazing. I think, so far, about 100 pages in, it does. It's a book that asks big questions. The kind of questions you don't usually ask in your day to day, but maybe should. It does feel like it's from a time and place that no longer exists. But, then again, it still seems relevant, ghostly. Maybe even essential.
I think it has thrown me back into a bit of an existential crisis. Not unusual for me. Maybe, actually, my usual mode. Wondering: What do I know? What do I believe? What the fuck is going on? What the fuck am I doing with my life? You know, deep, kind of unanswerable questions that go to the heart of the matter.
Yes. The book is doing it's thing. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. The more you look, the more you see. Also, maybe, the more looking, the more seeing, the less knowing? It's that kind of book.
