My Ishmael

I am reading Daniel Quinn's "My Ishmael", the third of his books I've read. I find his material eye opening, scary, and frustrating at the same time. It is so easy to hide from the truths he reveals – the not so subtle clues to the exponential path we are following. The obvious is so scary that I’m afraid to look. It’s like being a child again, peeking through my fingers at a horror movie. What’s going to happen? What can I do about it?

I have a friend, John, who is an avowed anarchist. Fortunately he is a tame one. He is committed to leaving a small footprint as he lives. He built his earth-bermed house from stacked cordwood. He grows and hunts much of his food, and watches his tiny black-and-white tv under dimly-lit, solar powered candelabras. John turned me on to Ishmael several years ago. I admire John. He lives his beliefs. But John gets angry when he has had too much wine … others, “the takers” are destroying this planet he says. I feel like a taker.

Two years ago the damage to John’s left hip from years of disciplined running finally caught up to him. The pain became too much to bear. He had the hip replaced. The recovery hobbled him for most of the Spring and Summer. His garden work was difficult. His harvests suffered. But this year was better, until early Autumn. His right hip was replaced December 2nd. Is he now a bionic anarchist taker? Thank God for medicare.