I’m writing from a library computer, so I will have to make this brief.
My internet access has been disconnected for three days now. The only rational explaination we’ve been able to come up with is that some construction across the street caused the line or internet box near our building to be disturbed. Sadly, the response from our ISP has been very bad, as they will not even look into the problem until well into next week.
Obviously this is distressing to me, not only because it cuts off my main means of communication, but also because it endangers a job I recently was offered, which requires internet access. The fates surely have not been smiling upon me since Tuesday.
I’ve been reading and working on what I am able to without access to the net. It’s been difficult to not be able to talk with many people, and to be cut off from information I consider important to have access to. I hope to return soon, but I can’t hold much hope considering the situation I find myself in.

I’m sitting now in the main room of Robert’s parents’ home. The party is slowly dying down, and I’ll likely be crashing within the next couple hours. It’s been a rather boring time for me.
This sort of interaction has little appeal to me, to be honest. I’m not a partier, I don’t consume any drugs, and I don’t know many of the people here. There have been some interesting moments, but overall I’ve been wandering and sitting more than anything else. I’d spend time with people I know in a heartbeat, but I don’t enjoy the company of people of the sort who usually form the core of parties such as this.
I did enjoy going to a beach and playing frisbee earlier in the day, however. I haven’t been swimming since last year with Ashley, so it was something I had missed. I rarely am around other people who would be interested in casual sport, so the playing of frisbee was also welcome.
Since I’ve been bored for most of the night, I’ve been thinking of mostly things quite unrelated to partying. I’ve been thinking especially of my situation and the situations of others I love, and thinking of how I might help improve each of them. I haven’t come up with any answers, so perhaps my disengagement from the center of activity here is not of value.
Just now, one guest here talked with me about classic literature. He mentioned his theories on literature in general and suggested I read some books by T. S. Elliot. I found it surprising that he would have interest in such things, because I allowed his outward appearance of a stoner (he offered weed to everyone, which I of course declined, so there was reason for me to believe he was a stoner) to color my first impression of him. I did have a positive impression of him from the start, but I applied a template and assumed what his interests might be. For that I feel quite disappointed in myself for casting such judgement. Usually I feel I don’t permit prejudice to influence how I view others, so this is rather troubling to me.

It’s now 4:30 a.m. I found it difficult to sleep, so I ended up sitting with the fellow I mentioned earlier, and a girl who is a dancer. We talked for a while about art and artistic careers and various other topics. It was certainly the highlight of the evening. I always find it easier to relate to people in smaller groups and let my guard down. I found that he was quite insightful and we had some good conversation.
As I was typing this, he passed through and made mention of my tendency to stand on the edge while the center of the party was near me, and admonished me for doing that in a way that seemed to hold more compassion than condemnation. It has prompted me to look again at why I tend to disengage around behaviour and personalities I find unappealing. Other than my rather minor social anxiety, I can’t find a cause.

As a side note, I hate mosquitos.

Some people, especially Alisha and Ashley (Ashley tells me they were mocking my usual themes for entries, and generally being sausy while they’re spending some time together), have been suggesting I need to tell more of my everyday life, so I’ll try to share a few details. I have a routine that I follow most week days that involves looking for work for work and then walking, reading, writing or doing some other sort of rewarding passtime in the evenings. It’s not something to write home about, but I suppose it can be recorded in a journal.
Since I last made an entry here there have been two rather nice occurances, though. Tuesday night I called Alisha and was able to talk with her for quite a while, and then Thursday night I called Ashley (at Alisha’s place, coincidentally). It had been a long time since I had heard either of their voices, so it was very nice to talk with them both again.
Especially after all that Ashley has been through lately, it felt very relieving and heart warming to be able to talk with her again. I’ve very much missed her company since I last saw her, nearly a year ago. It’s certainly seemed like longer, likely due to the fact that it was absolutely wonderful to be with her. There are certainly very few people in life who could lift my spirits so easily, and I’m very thankful to have Ashley in my life, even if we’re not able to physically see each other.

It seems I may be going to a beach and then to a party tomorrow. Nathan‘s (my roommate) friend Robert, who I’ve spent some time around, has invited us to a party he’s having and offered to pick us up at noon and take us to a beach with him. It sounds like an excellent change from our usual mellow weekends, especially being able to visit the beach. The fact that I haven’t been to a real party since high school makes it additionally interesting.

This morning I finished reading Zen Seeing, Zen Drawing : Meditation in Action, one of Frederick Franck’s books dealing with seeing/drawing, a form of Zen meditation he has championed. Essentially, Mr. Franck expresses the joy and insight to be found in seeing things rather than looking at them. Through his drawings he has found a way to consistantly view things as they are, without the pretense of viewing things as he believes they should be. His approach is not at all complicated, and has been quite inspiring to me. His writing is full of enthusiasm for the world around him, and in reading it I couldn’t help but be infected by an appreciation of simple and complex aspects of the world around me. I am not a great visual artist, nor do I feel much passion to create such art myself, but I feel the lessons I have learned through following the adivce to see things is still very rewarding and exciting. This is an excellent, brief work that I highly recommend.

A crow wheeled past me just now, and waves are crashing toward me. The sun has broken through the clouds and is shining upon the right of my face as the wind gently moves my hair in front of my face.
It’s supremely beautiful here on the coast and very spiritual for me today, more so than any other time I’ve visited this park. Here I feel a sense of peace, freedom and wholeness that I haven’t felt many other times. I feel a part of the bolders I sit upon, a part of the coastline and of the world in a way that is most often muted while I’m in civilized spaces.
The salt air is a purifier for my lungs. Each breath I draw in seems to clean away heaviness I’ve carried with me. The cool air refreshes my skin after several humid and hot days.
The crashing waves before and beneath me blend with the music I am listening to in a perfectly matched rhythm. The fluidity is mesmerizing, its vastness a world dance linking the continents.
A seagull glided above me, heralding the passing of a tall, sailed ship. I can’t see a name upon it, but I do see passengers and crew beneath its three masts. Two sails have been lowered, so perhaps it will make slow movement over the water. A Canadian flag is waving at the stern.
While walking along the shore I noticed ant-eaten driftwood logs, and found the texture of the ants’ trails to be beautiful in their intricate chaos. The interplay between the sea and land facinates me very much. Trees of the land so often fall into the sea to become bleached of color and then become home or nourishment for ants when the driftwood returns to shore.
I’ve had a very heavy heart lately and deep-seeded worry. Here I feel light and holy, reconnected with the divinity that is life. I feel my senses opening and expanding. I feel my understanding growing with each wave that collides with these rocks, and my enery to create and move forward is magnified as each crow, gull and swallow passes. Here where the moon pulls the water upon the rocks, here where the air warms and the wind cools the very same stone, I recognize acutely my responsibility to the world and thus to myself and all those I love.
I remember being along the shore further up the coast with Ashley two winters ago and taking photos before the sunset. I wish she and all my dear friends could be here today to experience this true sense of healing and beauty. It’s so easy to forget these feelings in a world of strife and hurting.

I’ve been running on a bit of a disconnect as of late because of some troubles a dear friend of mine has been enduring. I find that I feel unbalanced when I know someone I care about is in pain. Of course it’s good to be empathetic to others, but there’s the danger of becoming depressed or pessimistic when facing destructive events if one does not keep a tether of hope and awareness of other aspects of life close.
I know that I have often allowed various degrees of depressions to seep into my mind when dealing with the tragedies of others and my own, usually lesser, problems. I’m usually an optimist, so it’s troubling to me that I allow negative states to take over at times. It’s not helpful and often keeps me from duties and things I wish to accomplish. I hope to somehow overcome such unpleasant times.

Last week, during my time at my parents’ home, I became quite aware that I don’t have many friends outside of North America. In fact, other than one friend in South America and another in Asia, I don’t have friends outside of my home continent to correspond with. I took the time to seek out a few people who were also looking for someone to correspond with, and was lucky enough to find some rather interesting people who have been willing to share part of their lives with me. It has certainly been a rewarding experience through the few e-mails I’ve exchanged so far. Learning more about other cultures and people is something I believe is very important, so I’m thankful to have the opportunity.

For months now I’ve been using Firefox as my browser. It’s a wonderful piece of software and outpaces all competition of leaps and bounds. If you’re still using inferior browsers such as Internet Explorer or Netscape Navigator, you should definitely consider switching to Firefox. There are many valid arguements for leaving behind Internet Explorer, such as its lack of standards compliance, its security holes, the presence of popups and spyware (Firefox effectively eliminates them), no implementation of tabbed browsing (which is a wonderful feature I would not want to be without), and the business approach practiced by Microsoft. You can read what others think of Firefox and the general need to leave IE in the dust at many places, but two I’ve read and appreciated are Ross Laird‘s “Stop Using Internet Explorer!” and Flexbeta‘s “13 Reasons To Use Firefox Over IE” (the latter includes some screen shots and explains some key features). Of course, the Firefox team makes a good case for why you should switch to Firefox.

Ross Laird recently wrote a piece, “Addiction and Responsibility“, expressing the folly of simplifying the problem of addiction and seeking to place blame for such a complex and multi-causal issue. He also points out that there is a harmful tread in societies to oversimplify when dealing with our most important social issues. As divisions arise in philosophy and politics at ever increasing rates, it is very wise to take on a sense of responsibility for our societies, communities, families and selves.
Mr. Laird’s piece is quite insightful as a whole, and I urge you to take a couple minutes to read it, but I’d like to share the following paragraph with you, for I find it most pertinent.

Though he speaks here directly about addiction, Mr. Laird’s suggested approach can just as successfully be applied to any societal ill. By not seeking to place blame, but to instead take on responsibility for ourselves and the world we live in and a deep respect for our inate interconnectedness, we are more able to approach problems as individuals and as societies without, or at least minimalizing, the divisions we often create through inflexibility.

My final night here at my parents’ home is coming to an end. It’s been refreshing to be back here for a short while. I’m looking forward to being back in the city tomorrow afternoon, though. I miss certain things about both places when I’m away, but Halifax is definitely more like home to me now.
The past few days I’ve been helping out in Dean. Yesterday I went to Lemmon Hill to do some work cleaning and mowing the community center there, something I find quite rewarding, since that place is something I feel adds a lot to the community and helps to bring it together. Doing service for one’s community is quite important, I believe, and I wish to do more when I am able. Today I did some yard work for my aunt Lucy, again something I found rewarding.
I’ll be returning to the city with arms covered in horse and moose fly bites courtesy of the swarms that were to be found on Lemmon Hill as I worked there. I’ve yet to decide if fifty of those are better than hundreds of mosquitos or not. The insect population of rural areas is by far the worst aspect of visiting them for me.
Today my parents received a new digital camera, so I decided to try it out. I took a about fifteen minutes to snap some shots around the yard and the surrounding woods. You can find them in my photo album under “Dean – July 2004″ in both self-portraits and landscapes. In the rest of my entry I’ll share some of the photos and explain the significance of those I select.

Photos that were once included with this entry have been removed and may now be in my main photo album.

This is a building that served as a sort of playhouse for my sister and I when we were kids. We’d spend time playing in it and keeping it clean. My father built it from spare material he had around.

You may recall an entry I made about a tree that was very special to me (Life Tree Deer). This is what remains of that tree after clear cutting and a hurricane ravaged it. You may notice that it has green leaves and is still alive.

In a recent entry I mentioned the makeshift basketball court I played on in my youth (Hoops, Roots and Leaves). Here you can see the court in all its rough glory.

When I was twelve I travelled across North America with my family in this camper. It wasn’t spacious, but it was a place to sleep each night during that summer as we made our way across the continent, from coast to coast.

Here’s a photo of my parents’ home, where I lived all of my childhood.

Last fall, during Hurrican Juan (which I documented in a hurricane journal) many trees were ripped apart. This is the stump of one which nearly damaged my parents home when it fell.

Here’s a photo of me in the shade of some of the trees I would pass under often as I made my way through the forest as a child.

This displays my love of trees, as I examine some maple leaves.

Here, as an end piece to this collection is a photo of myself kneeling under a huge mass of roots that were also ripped up during the hurricane.

There are many photos taken today that I haven’t shared here, so please take a look at my photo album to see the rest.

I spent today visiting with my Uncle Gerry, Aunt Sharon and their daughter Hailey at an old school house they converted into a sort of summer home. It was a pleasant way to spend a day, filled with the food and conversation I’ve come to expect from my family.
I see Hailey quite infrequently, so each time I do see her I marvel at the mental development she has undergone. She’s not yet four years old, so she’s in one of the more amusing and trying stages of childhood. Every innocent and purely silly expression she provided was smile-inducing. With the actions of each relative present today as proof, I’m convinced there’s nothing that can provide a youthful spirit in aged folks more easily than a child.

After dinner my parents and I took a short drive to the shore of the Bay of Fundy (home to the highest tides in all the world). We walked along the stone carpeted beach for a while and then moved to a section of land beyond the beach where Acadians had built dykes. The dykes are still quite noticable today as mound-lines. On one section of retrieved land the rough wooden poles used to create the dykes over 300 years ago were exposed to the air, looking like the spine of some great serpent.
The Acadians were French settlers who built the dykes along the shore to keep the tide waters from soaking land. Their efforts provided them with quality farm land and allowed them to thrive here peacefully, with help from the Mi’kmaq first nations people, until they were forcibly expelled from Nova Scotia by the Brittish in 1755. This is one of the darker chapters of our history, marking a terrible act of ethnic cleansing. Some Acadians eventually became part of the culture group called Cajuns and were sent as far away as Georgia.
It’s so humbling to stand on land that 300 years ago was farmed and lived on by the first European settlers of this nation, and that was home to facinating native cultures for centuries, if not millennia, before that. We owe a debt of history to so many before us to made our own lives possible, and it’s truly a shame how little most of us know of the histories of our local area, not to mention that of the world. Reminders such as this walk along the shore are what keep me searching for new knowledge and understanding of the world.

One of my favourite ways I spent time with my father while growing up was playing basketball. We’d play most days on a makeshift court, essentially a piece of somewhat flat ground at the edge of the woods where he had attatched a backboard and net to a tall pine. Roots, grass, low tree limbs and stumps became obsticles and natural contours during the countless matches we played.
My father has always been quite fit, so what youthful energy and superiour height I had did not give me much, if any, advantage over a man who has been active in sports (and was a gym teacher, a role that surely is as trying as many sports) for nearly all his life. Most of our matches were closely contested, and I seem to recall him rarely taking it easy on me. I still look back at that friendly competition fondly.
This evening we again took some shots on that old, broken-but-servicable dirt court. It was quite nostalgic for me, and was a surprising highlight of the day, which involved a fair amount of quality time with my parents doing some gardening and sharing meals. Though I do enjoy my life in the city, I often miss the simple joys of spending time with my family.

With whisps of nostalgia still clinging to my head, I took a look through an old wooden toy box that my father built for me when I was a toddler. Inside I keep the last of my possessions that I don’t have in my room at the apartment. Yearbooks, stuffed animals, photos, scrapbooks and other keepsakes stay within it and are kept safe, holding their memories for when I wish to recall them.
While looking through the five yearbooks I found it hard to believe it was only 3 years ago when the last of them was given to me. I feel fully removed from that period of my life, something I don’t believe I was aware of until tonight. I’ve certainly changed and learned a great deal since those days, and I’ve grown apart from nearly all the people I knew back then. I remember swearing it wouldn’t happen, that my friends and I would somehow deny the odds. Today I can count the friends I have communicated with in the past year on just one hand. I find that quite sad, to be honest.
It’s odd who I think of most out of the people I knew during my time in school. Aside from some dear friends I still hear from, I mostly recall the people I had only the most minimal of friendships with, the people who I listened to more than talked with, but who held my interest. Sometimes there are those questions of what are they doing now, and could we have been better suited friends than others I associated with?
Nostalgia is a strange and powerful force, as is memory. So much of both are loosed by the slightest triggers and are easily forgotten by the conscious mind. Human memory is truly remarkable, and usually wonderful. The Wonder Years, a television show that captured memory so well, expressed the joy well when it said, “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”

I’ve readded a couple features to my website over the past day. You’ll find my photo album here and a list of the ten songs I’ve listened to most recently (as provided by Audioscrobbler) here. Hopefully these will be of interest to some of you.

I’ve been enjoying Faithless‘ No Roots album immensely since I discovered it early this week. Faithless is an exciting electronic group that crosses genres and has produced some rather enjoyable albums. The newest album, however, takes a great leap in message and instrumentation. It’s a very satisfying and deep release that defies the typical fare you’ll find in works utilizing similar tools.

If there’s one aspect of being in this rural area I most often think of fondly it’s the stars. In Halifax light pollution is strong enough to render all but the brightest stars invisible, sadly. When I walk at night in the city I often look up and am dismayed by the lack of stars and the sick orange hue of the night sky that cities adopt. Here I’ll make it a point to take the time to stargaze while I can.

Last night I was finally able to see Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11. I must say that I wasn’t overly impressed. Aside from some moving moments featuring average people that Mr. Moore talked with, it was rather boring for me. As someone who follows current event extensively, the vast majority of the facts presented in this documentary were old to me, and I realize that I’m not the target audience of this film. It was a well made movie, and should serve to inform those who haven’t actively searched for information and inspire them to become more active, and for that I think Mr. Moore should be commended. Far too few people in all media have been questioning the actions and words of the people in power, and that’s a grave shame. Yes, Mr. Moore has a bias in his work, but it is not the harmful sort. Bias is present in all media, but Mr. Moore happens to have a bias toward good. If you are informed about the wars and other injustices enacted by the current American administration you’ll likely want to skip Fahrenheit 9/11, but those of you who haven’t kept up with what has been happening may have your eyes opened by seeing this.