Hiram

August 20, 2010

Garrett Suite, Hiram Inn, Hiram, Ohio. This is the room I had the last time I stayed at the Inn, and the one I was hoping for this time, for no special reason other than my insatiable and mostly scorned desire for tradition. The history of John Garrett, III, Revolutionary War soldier and founder of Garrettesville, hangs on the wall. I had neglected to take into consideration that there is nothing to do within thirty miles, except for a few sleazy bars in Garrettesville, where I might find myself before the night is over.

Dawn on the mountains was predictably beautiful, but I have to say that the drive was pretty awful, not because of anything that had to do with the road, but because of what was happening in my mind. It is difficult to access that depth of emotion now that it is passed, but I felt as one near the end of his days, with nothing accomplished, with everything promised withheld, every prize offered in life or dream diverted to someone else, outcast from the first memory to the final hope. I am not convinced that was an untrue vision, merely not a very useful one. Not much good to moving forward. Zach helped me survive it, for during my massage yesterday, he told me of his meditation technique, how in the face of “monkey mind” it comes down to determined concentration. At one point my spirit was as troubled as it is ever likely to be, and the only thing I could think to say was, “I meditate on the heart of God.” This somehow I snatched out of the depths. I thought I would have to repeat that hour after hour, concentrating inhumanly, to stay out of the Pit, but it was only a few moments before I could feel the possibility of calm opening up in that wasteland. Now it seems very strange and foreign and long ago, even if it is not.

Wandered the Hiram campus. One thing to be said is that there are a hell of a lot fewer mosquitos here than back home. I still feel at home and comfortable here. School is not yet started, but the campus teems with friendly, beefy kids, perhaps a football camp. Denny led me to expect a wasteland, but all is charming and beautiful. If I were to categorize the difference between now and then, I would say that then things were arranged to suit a group of very sophisticated (I’m steering clear of “effete”) faculty. Now it seems to be arranged to please kids. I don’t know that one is better than the other, necessarily, but there is clearly no ccatastrophic decline. . . only change. . . which is difficult to take, sometimes.