2014, The year of Abbey.

For the last few years, I have been trying to keep a record of all the books that I have read each year.  Three years ago, I posted my reading list to this blog.  My then roommate said that she thought it was a bit pretentious of me to assume that anyone would care what I had read.  If you know me, then you know that one of my favorite things to do, is share books that I love with people that I love.  Truth be told, I am even happy to share books I love with people  that I don't much care for.  Who knows, maybe if they read some of the books that I have suggested, they will be better people  (I'm kidding.)  I know that certain books have made me a better person and blown my brain wide open with brilliant and poetic ideas that hadn't yet occurred to me.

Last year, I didn't do so good at keeping a list, so didn't post one.  Maybe I was still feeling self conscious of coming across as pretentious.  Due to the small number of people who have ever looked at this blog, it's hard to imagine coming across any sort of way.  This year, I had planned to post my reading list again but then I went ahead and lost the whole thing.  This leaves me little to post.

However, one thing that stood out about my reading this year is my new found love of Edward Abbey.  I read six books by him in 2014 and, other than the year I was busy loving Richard Brautigan, I don't believe that I have ever read so many books by one author.  The books that I read, in the order I read them, were The Fool's Progress, The Brave Cowboy, The Monkeywrench Gang, Haduke Lives!, Fire on the Mountain and Desert Solitaire. 

I had known of Edward Abbey's books for years but for some reason, foolishly had never read him.  Although I don't agree with every single opinion that he expresses, I find that he is a person of great character, who was not afraid to speak from his heart and to me those are noble things to find in a writer.  As our country become more and more homogenous and people lose themselves in social networking and the sticky web, of the world wide variety, we need more larger than life, bold, wild characters to remind us what it is we are voluntarily giving up.  Who are these iconoclasts today?  Is there still room in this world for untamed souls to shout at us from the wilderness?  Is anyone even willing to listen?

I for one am glad to lend my ear and hope to someday be among the voices doing the shouting.  I thank Edward Abbey for sharing a voice of dissent and sharing it loudly.  I thank Edward Abbey for speaking for the last of the wilderness that we have left in this country.  I hope that in his lifetime, he knew that some people were listening.  I hope that wherever old Ed is resting in the American desert, that his soul is sleeping well and that his wish, "I want my body to help fertilize the growth of a cactus or cliff rose or sagebrush or tree.", has come true.  I hope that someday, I can also break the law in death and that my body can pay it's due.

Thank you, Ed.

Writings from Walleye Vol. 2

How long does it take the Earth to give birth to a mountain?  The rumbling and grinding of rock upon rock, pushing in a skyward direction, while at the same time pushing back towards the center.  The way that each mountain grows uniquely and slowly, all so that the Earth may again find contact with the Sun and the Moon, other heavenly bodies.  All so the Sun and Moon can rise and then fall.  A returning.


From the moment we come into the world it is good to find the space to be cradled.  Held as our bodies give motion to our oldest feelings.  The oceans and rivers that flow inside of each of us and sing us to sleep with the gentle sound of air curling into a seashell.  Maybe our hearts are the shells that know how to sing our truest songs?


Following the voices backwards through time.  Weaving a story that travels through and with your bodies.  The voices of the past and mostly of shared blood carry you forward, out of the deep sleep of the forest and towards the night sky.  Let yourself be cradled, as you were in birth, one tiny but important piece of the love and hurt, that is the birthright of us all.  These will provide you a line, so that wherever you are, you will always know the way home.


The anticipation leads the way or takes the backseat.  You will go this way or you will not.  Your hands will rise over your head or remain by your sides.  What is that tugging at your sleeve and spinning you around?  Do you know where you are, who I am?  Who are you?