Alaska Reflections

Summary: Mesmerized on the ferry to Alaska, I see whales, dolphins, and salmon, re-encounter America in Juneau, have an epiphany, conclude I was wrong about “transformation” for 45 years, get stuck for seven hours at Greyhound, and get rescued by Brandon, with whom I have a rewarding conversation driving to Seattle.

On my birthday, I board the ferry to Juneau, a 58-hour ride. The impressive Alaska Marine Highway boat, the Columbia, holds about 1,000 passengers and includes three viewing lounges, cafe, restaurant, and a large theater with recliners where walk-on passengers like myself can sleep at night.

Passing through the San Juan Islands before sunset, I'm mesmerized by the beauty. For the next two days, I spend most of the day staring at the landscape of the nearby islands and coastline. It's like watching flowers bloom. The view changes ever so slowly as the ferry plows through the water. Why does Mother Nature never make a mistake? Why is everything in nature beautiful?

My break from being productive persists. I only take a break from my empty-minded meditation to take photos and share some of them with my Facebook friends when we near a cellphone tower.

The peace and quiet of Vancouver carries over to the ferry. Passengers in the lounges and restaurants speak only loud enough to be heard. Myself, I seldom talk to anyone, lost in my trance.

Once I learn I can remove seats to make a comfortable bed on the floor, I sleep well, which helps my mood. The first day was a bit difficult due to poor sleep in a recliner. Seeing whales and dolphins elevates my mood as well.

After three or four stops in small towns along the way, we arrive in Juneau. Several thousand cruise ship passengers descend to shop in tourist traps, including countless jewelry stores, a legacy of Juneau's gold mining history, and I get a taste of the America to which I will return. What is most striking about these tourists is how frequently I hear anger, frustration, irritation, and curtness, which I had seldom experienced for ten days.

On one occasion, I'm sitting down drinking a smoothie and a man nearby initiates a pleasant conversation about my drink and the Alaska Marine Highway. Then his wife walks up and without even a glance at me tells him, "Are you going to continue socializing or are we going to go do something?" He meekly explains that he had been bored in the store where she had been shopping. After 30 seconds, I walk away and wave goodbye to him. She never looks at me.

I take a tram that it is owned and operated by the local Tlingett tribe to the top of the mountain. The tribal information officer tells me that when the tribe demanded their land, they were forced to incorporate by a 1972 law, rather than live on a reservation. They will lose their land if they don't pay their property tax, but their many businesses have thrived, and they’ve preserved their culture.

After watching a film on their tribal history, I ask her about their history of warfare with other tribes. Though she's not sure, she agrees that the occasional wars probably only began after populations grew and competition for resources increased.

I also check out their sanctuary for injured eagles and listen to an excellent local string band.

The next day I go to the Mendenhall Glacier and watch a salmon run, but don’t see bear fishing for salmon as is common. The walk through the forest is peaceful. When I encounter a shelter built by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) in the 30s and read an interpretive sign praising the New Deal, I wonder why the devil we don't have a CCC now.

Before leaving Juneau, I visit Sarah Palin's former home, the Governor's mansion, reflect on the irony that half of Juneau's residents are government employees, and wonder if she tried to privatize the Alaska Marine Highway, which is state-owned.

Heading back toward San Fran on the Kennicott, a much smaller boat with no recliners, I luck out and get a roomette for thirty dollars a night. And the cafeteria is adequate.

I shift toward being more productive. First, I finish Bob Dylan in America by Sean Wilentz, a historian I hold in very high regard. The book is a tour de force, exploring the cultural roots and influences of Dylan's work. I can hardly put it down to eat or sleep. Three points stand out:

1. Dylan is extremely well read, both in history and literature. He has said he could remember how to play a song after hearing it once. But apparently he has an incredible memory with regard to the written word as well, judging by how he has borrowed from poets and writers far and wide.
2. Decades ago, Dylan warned about the advent of tech-driven manufactured virtual reality. With the growth of reality television, infotainment, and other such constructions, his warning seems even more relevant today.
3. The development of "democratic Christianity" during the Second Great Awakening prior to the Civil War produced a new style of singing in churches that was more passionate than the gentility of the dominant Northern churches. This Sacred Harp music greatly influenced Dylan, (as did the raw power of folk, blues, and country music). The contrast between these styles of religious music reminded me of my impression that Vancouver is rather bland. 

After finishing the book, I begin to reflect on my future. There's probably no better place to meditate than sitting alone on the back of a ferry on the Inland Passage.

After thirty minutes or so on the second night, I set aside the long list of possible projects that had been running through my head all day. Instead, I decide to simply establish a loose structure for my life when I return and mostly follow whatever passions emerge to the fore, while continuing to take care of myself so I can help improve the world.

My last night on the ferry, after rereading two articles in the New York Review of Books, “Pure, Purifying, and Evil” by William Pfaff and “Getting Isaiah Berlin Wrong” by Aileen Kelly, an epiphany hits me like a lightning bolt:

For 45 years I’ve been wrong to push for holistic “transformation.” 

Doing so is counter-productive, because it is arrogant. Then I write the following:

Sitting on the back deck
of the ferry
alone
dark skies above
patchy clouds
only a few stars
the lights of some unknown
small city
in the distance
the wake of the boat rushing by in white foam
I reflect on two articles
in the New York Review of BooksI just reread
and conclude that
for 45 years
I have been wrong
on a key point.
To push for “transformation”
personal or social
is foolhardy and dangerous.
To foster collapse,
forcible revolution,
or total conversion
rarely leads to lasting, positive growth.
This method is a future-oriented abstraction
an ideology.
A wiser course
is to face what is in front of us
here and now,
improve it as best we can
bit by bit
moment by moment,
and see where the process takes us,
respecting that most people are coping as best they can
with love in their hearts,
knowing that none of us knows for sure
how our neighbors should live.
Someday we may look around
and see we're in a “transformed” world
with transformed individuals --
that we have experienced
an evolutionary revolution.
Or we may conclude
we are merely much improved.
Or we may conclude
it does not matter what term we use.
Regardless, no blueprint applies.
If we knew in advance
what it would look like
it would not be
transformation.
It would be
a product.
We can only
go with the flow
if we want to be
creative.

The next morning I disembark and a comedy of errors with Greyhound leaves me stranded at the bus station. Brandon rescues me by driving up from Seattle.

On the return trip we discuss my new thoughts extensively, including the definition of transform -- to change the structure, character, and/or appearance. We consider how it might be possible to have transformation in the back of one’s mind as a possibility, rather than a primary goal. To try to force transformation may be like trying so hard to go to sleep, one stays awake. When someone says, “I want to help transform you,” many people understandably resist.

Brandon resonates strongly with my new direction. He particularly relates to the formulation, which I picked up from some source that I don’t recall, that if one knows in advance what it will look like, it is not transformation. Brandon returns to the last phrase of “Pure, Purifying, and Evil” which I had quoted – “…humans do not change” -- and said he agreed. So I ask him what alternative language might be better. He says, “People don’t change, they grow.” I love it, and give him a high five. There are exceptions of course, but as a general statement, it rings a bell.

I’m not sure about this line of thought and will give it more consideration. But at the moment, I’m now inclined to disagree with the “Be the Change Interview”  that I posted during Occupy San Francisco and change the title of my manifesto from “Transform America” to “Democratize America.”