«
erik, the doubting dane
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end of june, 2001
hillerod, denmark
kronborg ("hamlet's") castle
"to be -- or not to be…?"
never mind.
what i really want to talk about is…
…how travel is a spiritual quest - how it makes you so - small -
relatively speaking - measured over the course of time - and -
simultaneously large - part of the entire history and culture of the world -
part of all humans who came before you. i mean, traveling makes you have to
contemplate - if your eyes and ears are open -- and you´re at all attentive,
curious & alive -- both the pettiness and grandness of mankind. the
meaninglessness and impressive-ness of human folly, accomplishment… endeavor -
over the molting, lurching and unfolding millennium. it makes you realize that
these centuries and centuries of western civilization that we so mindlessly
studied (sadly, in america, to the exclusion of the histories of eastern
civilization) – well, they actually do mean something. that is, if you want to
understand, learn about, compare - periods of architecture, style, music, art,
politics, fashion, literature, cuisine, dance, folklore, theater, war. take, for
example, the sub-history of european royalty – how magnanimous and insane lines
of kings and queens intermarried, had death-sentencing extra-marital affairs,
slaughtered & incarcerated each other, not to mention their guileless and
powerless subjects – ad infinitum. and how their god-defying willfulness and
narcissistic bodily desire effected national alliances, the course of history,
the spread of one culture into another, the intermixing of races, the
development of languages, cultures. french kings, spanish princesses. romans,
tudors, normans, vikings. portuguese, dutch, danish, russian. one inter-breeding
kingdom, one congenitally-impaired empire… after another.
i mean, if you're interested--
then sitting in front of the fredericksbourg castle in hillerod, denmark - on
your way to the infamous kronborg castle in helsingor, 'ol willie shakespeare's
model for elsinore, dane hamlet's princely prison, then sitting here -- is
extremely satisfying -- and edifying -- and thought provoking -- and humbling.
of course, i'm sitting here -- alone -- again. sprawled out like a
kerouacian corpse in these imitation-versailles, manicured and sculpted rococo
gardens. i mean, what a narcissistic, self indulgent preoccupation and
privilege. doing this day after day. inventing each day, one after the other,
decision after decision, train-ride after train-ride, staring out these lovely
scan-rail windows with only my thoughts and feelings as my curious, one-sided
companions?
yet what? i´m... perfectly... satisfied.
perfectly lonely - and at the same time --- satisfied. falling in love with
three tantalizingly soulful, salt-of-the-earth scandinavian women a day -- none
of whom are more than fleetingly interested or available -- all of whom have
husbands or boyfriends - or children - to take care of. all of whom,
begrudgingly, yet actually, have lives of their own to live. none of whom can
drop anything, everything - or even some things - on a moment's notice - or
fanciful whim - to travel with me for a week - or two – or even for the rest of
their lives. god, i'm too old for this adolescent fantasy romanticizing shit!
but why is it - that people just don't seem to be as open as they used to be? is
it me? age? the times? the need for security, fear of the unknown, debilitating
doubt, inconvenient geography, the finicky and fitful future...? damn, i keep
trying to live what i teach -- how to live in the moment - improvise – not plan
ahead. how to keep your eyes, heart, body and mind open to what's in front of
you. who's in front of you. how to react, create, respond to life's promptings,
callings, & offerings without imposing one's own hopeless or simply unrealistic
agenda and/or expectations upon it. damn, it's a challenging and impossible
lesson to learn -- and relearn -- and relearn.
so - the gigantic fredericksbourg castle is looming/sprawling out before me.
that is, the ornately manicured, art nouveau garden is sprawling – and the green
copper, multi-spired dutch renaissance royal summer residential palace of
christian IV -- is looming -- brilliantly behind. the bees are being, the
gardeners are gardening, and me, moi, --- i'm writing - looking, smelling,
hearing, grokking - all the sights and sounds - and gargantuan creations of
christian IV - and his indulgent dad, frederick II (damn, all these roman
numeraled kings and queens are hopelessly confusing). and i'm trying not to plan
ahead -- too much. while at the same time, knowing that i want to be back in
royal copenhagen by july 6 for the start of the internationally impressive jazz
festival, then train back to stockholm on july 7, stay there another day or two
at johan's on gamla stan, then boat hopefully across to balticly beautiful
tallinn in estonia, maybe luck out & see stately st. petersburg without planning
the proper 2-week-in-advance russian visa, then get myself back to happy
helsinki with the moravs, only to then to sadly, but truly, fly back to
insidious, corrupt LA, where - my lonely, suddenly escape-driven dawgie so
misses me, my valiant and honorable subtenant barely holds down the
not-so-powerful lucretian fort, & my own garden and routine await me -
stoically, courageously, and yes, inevitably. where i will then have to spend
the whole sprawling and looming autumn - teaching again - 3 whole fucking days
of the week -- before i take off for another 4 months to far-away and beckoning
borneo, followed by another 4 months to islamic-mcdonaldized kuala lumpur, the
wannabe western capital of the east.
oh whatalife.
gotta get outta kronborg. clear my fuzzy, solipsistic mind. go breathe some
fresh danish air - back in royal copenhagen, the quintessential cobble-stoned,
modern-day european capital. its entire 15th century history of the short-lived
but powerful danish empire lurking behind and underneath every sentient church
and graveyard. its trendy and euro-stylish coffee shops, boutiques, salons,
eateries, and bars packing in tourists and locals alike, especially now in full
bloom of midsummer. perhaps not quite twenty four hours a day, but enough to
keep an all day-all night, walking & boating tour going through the canals,
gardens, palaces, bistros, & back alleys…. through tivoli gardens, the original
disneyland and universal studio. through christiana, the berkeley-in-the-60s
style, bohemian mecca, where both hi techs and low brows come to this "free"
squatters part of the city to purchase recreational drugs imported from all over
the world. mexican mushrooms, lebanese hashish, fifty different kinds of
california-grown grass. of course, i'm trying to keep my head clear – making my
way through rosenborg slot, børsen and rundetårn, and of course past the city's
water-glistening "little mermaid", both copenhagen's most popular tourist
attraction and its living monument to denmark's most famous native son, the most
translated author in the history of literature – mr. hans christian andersen.
"oh what an ugly duckling…" remember danny kaye singing? i do. they say danny
looked like my dad…
bringing me full solipsistic circle…
"to be – or not to be…?" (shakespeare)
"never mind." (nirvana)
love anyway,
erik, your one-time and ex-(vi)king
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