My my, here again so soon. Exhaustion brings me here. Everything around me now is soporific, but at least here challenges me to dig into self and psychic digging certainly wakes one up.
Over a year and I don't think I've paid tribute to the namesake of this blog. And my time away, even from here reminded me of how much I truly feel like the steppenwolf. It is so juvenile to identify so strongly with a character out of a work of art, but here I am, I still do.
Hermann Hesse's 'Steppenwolf' is challenging reading but to this day it is the one work of fiction I identify with the most, not only for the angst but also for the way the narrative closes, imploring us to find a way to be happy in this life.
I am oversimplifying way too much. The concept of the Steppenwolf is much more complex than that...today I can only sum it up with a bit from one of its section headings 'For Mad Men Only'
Hesse is not for the faint of heart and I do not mean that in any snobbish literary sense, although everything about Steppenwolf's Harry Haller is extreme arrogance and snobbery. But in the sense of wanting to retreat to the hills and howl in solitude, yes, I identify with Haller, if only for a moment. The thing is Haller got it wrong in many ways and when I howl with a cantadora in hand I don't feel the angst that paralyzed Haller. Cantadora: see: Women who run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
Today I just want to get past Haller's murky mood, ignore my murky environ and laugh, laugh, laugh and laugh some more. Howl a little bit and then laugh some more.
Namaste
