Dear Mr. Jack Kerouac
Your adventure, your philosophy, your way of life in your novel The Dharma Bums has eternally changed me. Thoughts of a future in my hometown, attending the University of Virginia, beginning a family and growing grey in the affluence of Charlottesville have abruptly shed like the shell of a cicada. Now dreams of years of world travel with just a backpack and a soul along for the ride fill my every thought. An education spent immersing myself in the things I truly care about lies ahead. Hopes of raising a family brought up in one big puddle of love without the cloud of an angst filled society raining on top of it. For what is a life not spent in union with the animals, with the world, with the void?
You told me life is a spontaneous creation. A thing so complex, it is meant not to have a path. You illustrated that the twists and turns add the flare everyone secretly longs for. Lives planned from birth, whether it is a baby boy whose future is premeditated to attend an ivy league, inherit the family business, marry rich and age on their parents trust fund or, the life of a poor baby girl in a third world country working her life away on the family farm, marrying without a choice, growing old having never left her village are now the antithesis of my dreams. These lives fill me full of true remorse. I want to pull them through the bleak trapdoor they do not realize lays only inches from their grip. Your book, your life showed me a way out. The Dharma Bums is a portal that can lead these ensnared souls to eternal personal freedom, to enlightenment.
Jack, you have taught me enlightenment is not money. It is not power. It is not even love, as I might have thought. Enlightenment is being one with oneself. Some might say that’s pure selfishness. I say it’s pure genius. Why live if you’re not at one with oneself? Why try to please others, when you yourself are not even fulfilled? Many philosophies state that material things are not essential for happiness. I doubted it. But you proved it. You climbed Matterhorn, with a little food and a little friendship. And you’ve never been happier than at the top of the peak- wind ripping through your heart like a roaring train slowly setting you on the tracks to true happiness.
Jack’s recipe for enlightenment I called it: oneself, a little food, a little friendship, a little spontaneity. I tried it. I climbed the peaks of the Peruvian Andes with a little food and a little friendship. I’ve never been happier. I’ve never been more at one with myself. I’ve never been more in the void. You were right, Jack. You bum, you were right all along.
Peace,
Rachel Woolworth
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Letters About Literature
Dear Jack Kerouac
Your novel, your adventure, your philosophy, your way of life in The Dharma Bums has eternally changed me for the better. Thoughts of a life staying in my hometown, attending the University of Virginia, beginning a family and growing grey in the affluence of Charlottesville have abruptly shed like the shell of a cicada. Now thoughts of years of world travel with just a backpack and a soul along for the ride fill my every thought. An education spent immersing myself in the things I truly care about lies ahead. Hopes of raising a family brought up in one big puddle of love without the cloud of an angst filled society raining on top of it. For what is a life not spent in union with the animals, with the world, with the void?
You told me life is a spontaneous creation. A thing so complex, it is meant not to have a path. You illustrated that the twists and turns add the flare everyone secretly longs for. Lifes planned from birth, whether a baby boy whose future is premeditated to attend an ivy league, marry rich, inherit the family business, idle the summer away at the country club, squander the vital days of parenting with nannies, fall into the endless monotony of a loveless marriage resulting in an affair and the slow decline of a physical, mental and economic state or, the life of a poor baby girl in a third world country working her life away on the family farm, marrying without a choice, growing old having never left her village. These lifes fill me full of true remorse. I want to pull them through the bleak trapdoor they do not realize lays only inches away from their grip. Your book, your life showed me a way out. It is the portal that can lead these ensnared souls to eternal personal freedom, to enlightenment.
Jack, you have taught me enlightenment is not money. It is not power. It is not even love, as I might have thought. Enlightenment is being at one with yourself. Some might say that’s pure selfishness…I say it’s pure genius. Why live if you’re not at one with yourself? Why try to please others, when you yourself are not even fulfilled? Its common knowledge many philosophies state that material things are not essential for happiness. I doubted it. But you proved it. You climbed Matterhorn, with a little food, a little friendship. And you’ve never been happier than at the top of the peak, the wind ripping through your heart like a roaring train slowly setting you onto the tracks to true happiness.
Jack’s recipe for enlightenment, I called it: yourself, a little food, a little friendship, a little spontaneity. I tried it. I climbed the peaks of the Peruvian Andes with a little food, a little friendship and I’ve never been happier. I’ve never been more at one with myself. I’ve never been more in the void. You were right, Jack. You were right all along.
Your novel, your adventure, your philosophy, your way of life in The Dharma Bums has eternally changed me for the better. Thoughts of a life staying in my hometown, attending the University of Virginia, beginning a family and growing grey in the affluence of Charlottesville have abruptly shed like the shell of a cicada. Now thoughts of years of world travel with just a backpack and a soul along for the ride fill my every thought. An education spent immersing myself in the things I truly care about lies ahead. Hopes of raising a family brought up in one big puddle of love without the cloud of an angst filled society raining on top of it. For what is a life not spent in union with the animals, with the world, with the void?
You told me life is a spontaneous creation. A thing so complex, it is meant not to have a path. You illustrated that the twists and turns add the flare everyone secretly longs for. Lifes planned from birth, whether a baby boy whose future is premeditated to attend an ivy league, marry rich, inherit the family business, idle the summer away at the country club, squander the vital days of parenting with nannies, fall into the endless monotony of a loveless marriage resulting in an affair and the slow decline of a physical, mental and economic state or, the life of a poor baby girl in a third world country working her life away on the family farm, marrying without a choice, growing old having never left her village. These lifes fill me full of true remorse. I want to pull them through the bleak trapdoor they do not realize lays only inches away from their grip. Your book, your life showed me a way out. It is the portal that can lead these ensnared souls to eternal personal freedom, to enlightenment.
Jack, you have taught me enlightenment is not money. It is not power. It is not even love, as I might have thought. Enlightenment is being at one with yourself. Some might say that’s pure selfishness…I say it’s pure genius. Why live if you’re not at one with yourself? Why try to please others, when you yourself are not even fulfilled? Its common knowledge many philosophies state that material things are not essential for happiness. I doubted it. But you proved it. You climbed Matterhorn, with a little food, a little friendship. And you’ve never been happier than at the top of the peak, the wind ripping through your heart like a roaring train slowly setting you onto the tracks to true happiness.
Jack’s recipe for enlightenment, I called it: yourself, a little food, a little friendship, a little spontaneity. I tried it. I climbed the peaks of the Peruvian Andes with a little food, a little friendship and I’ve never been happier. I’ve never been more at one with myself. I’ve never been more in the void. You were right, Jack. You were right all along.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Capture the Flag (Final Draft)
Every year as school days dwindled down I would begin to dream about Maine summers and the pleasures it brought. The high point of my stay would always be the annual game of capture the flag. Played over our 12 acres of sprawling Maine forest and field, including a lake, beach and rivers, this was no game for the lighthearted as the intensity of family rivalries ignited with the night air. So sit back while I tell the heroic tale of the night I captured the flag.
The night was as dark as mom’s hair and smelled like one big bonfire. The temperature was perfection. The mosquitoes buzzed soothingly around my ear, occasionally deciding to launch an attack. Peacefulness floated through the air, until the bloodcurdling yell punctured peace… “1…2…3 START!” The serenity of my surroundings was broken, mosquitoes suddenly started to swarm and the darkness seemed overwhelming. But the quest for our own holy grail had begun and there was no turning back now.
An hour into the game, I received confidential information from my cousin Michael that the flag had been spotted. “Where’s the flag?” I ask. He quietly whispers to me; “Our baby is on the beach to the right side of the boat house.” I began to panic, wondering how in the world we would be able to make it that far through the forest without being caught. We both knew it was time for a plan…of mastery.
Next thing I knew Michael and I were standing by the lake’s edge, peeling off our shirts and timidly dipping our feet in the water. I was the first to silently slip into the ice cold lake and it was a feeling I will never forget. An intense coldness overwhelmed me. A thousand knives seemed to be piercing my skin and I longed for a wool blanket and cup of hot chocolate. Michael followed suit and we slowly but surely began to make our way around the lake.
Five minuets later we were behind enemy lines and knew that around any bend a rival could be lurking. We swam with caution, with meticulous care not to wake any sleeping creatures or disturb peaceful waters. Every minute I lost feeling in a new toe, a different eyelash felt like it had turned to ice. But we still trudged along, edging our way around the exterior of the lake. At one point Michael dared to turn the flashlight on under the water…it reflected through and set an eerie tone to the air. But now we were aware that the beach lay only feet ahead.
We stopped swimming and began to tread water, racking our brains for the smallest fraction of an idea. Before I knew it Michael had pushed me out of the water, and I was lying on the dark of the beach. I caught a glimpse of my cousin Pam, she was around the bend guarding the flag with care. Stomach to the ground I crept along the beach, grains of sand sticking to my wet skin as if I were a roll of duct tape. A gust of Maine wind blew across the coast, sending a shiver through my bones and the tip of the old couch upholstery flying in a crazy state. Closer and closer I crept, anticipating and calculating the finer points of my attack.
I was only feet away and Pam had not noticed my presence. My finger brushed the cotton tip of the flag. I cautiously pulled at the cloth, releasing it from the sand’s suffocation and placing it securely between my two front teeth. I was a tribal warrior creeping through sand. It was time for my retreat, but I suddenly froze. I heard voices from the woods, drawing closer by the second. Pam heard voices too and ran a few feet ahead to greet them. It was now or never. I scrambled towards the water’s edge and silently sunk under the surface. I swam as far away from the shore as I could but eventually had to come up for breath. As I stared back at the dark shore, I heard a commotion. There was a high pitched scream from Pam and frantic running. That was my cue, after that point I swam like I had never swum before. I was a crocodile swiftly moving under the surface, holding onto my pray. I curved around the coast, Michael trailing behind my burst of adrenaline.
By the end of the night, I got my wool blanket and my hot chocolate. I got hugs, I got compliments, and I got pride. Only years later did the opposing team admit that the thought of a water attack had never crossed their mind. I never “captured” the flag again…but the memories I have from that night are enough to last a lifetime. For one night of my childhood, I was the hero.
The night was as dark as mom’s hair and smelled like one big bonfire. The temperature was perfection. The mosquitoes buzzed soothingly around my ear, occasionally deciding to launch an attack. Peacefulness floated through the air, until the bloodcurdling yell punctured peace… “1…2…3 START!” The serenity of my surroundings was broken, mosquitoes suddenly started to swarm and the darkness seemed overwhelming. But the quest for our own holy grail had begun and there was no turning back now.
An hour into the game, I received confidential information from my cousin Michael that the flag had been spotted. “Where’s the flag?” I ask. He quietly whispers to me; “Our baby is on the beach to the right side of the boat house.” I began to panic, wondering how in the world we would be able to make it that far through the forest without being caught. We both knew it was time for a plan…of mastery.
Next thing I knew Michael and I were standing by the lake’s edge, peeling off our shirts and timidly dipping our feet in the water. I was the first to silently slip into the ice cold lake and it was a feeling I will never forget. An intense coldness overwhelmed me. A thousand knives seemed to be piercing my skin and I longed for a wool blanket and cup of hot chocolate. Michael followed suit and we slowly but surely began to make our way around the lake.
Five minuets later we were behind enemy lines and knew that around any bend a rival could be lurking. We swam with caution, with meticulous care not to wake any sleeping creatures or disturb peaceful waters. Every minute I lost feeling in a new toe, a different eyelash felt like it had turned to ice. But we still trudged along, edging our way around the exterior of the lake. At one point Michael dared to turn the flashlight on under the water…it reflected through and set an eerie tone to the air. But now we were aware that the beach lay only feet ahead.
We stopped swimming and began to tread water, racking our brains for the smallest fraction of an idea. Before I knew it Michael had pushed me out of the water, and I was lying on the dark of the beach. I caught a glimpse of my cousin Pam, she was around the bend guarding the flag with care. Stomach to the ground I crept along the beach, grains of sand sticking to my wet skin as if I were a roll of duct tape. A gust of Maine wind blew across the coast, sending a shiver through my bones and the tip of the old couch upholstery flying in a crazy state. Closer and closer I crept, anticipating and calculating the finer points of my attack.
I was only feet away and Pam had not noticed my presence. My finger brushed the cotton tip of the flag. I cautiously pulled at the cloth, releasing it from the sand’s suffocation and placing it securely between my two front teeth. I was a tribal warrior creeping through sand. It was time for my retreat, but I suddenly froze. I heard voices from the woods, drawing closer by the second. Pam heard voices too and ran a few feet ahead to greet them. It was now or never. I scrambled towards the water’s edge and silently sunk under the surface. I swam as far away from the shore as I could but eventually had to come up for breath. As I stared back at the dark shore, I heard a commotion. There was a high pitched scream from Pam and frantic running. That was my cue, after that point I swam like I had never swum before. I was a crocodile swiftly moving under the surface, holding onto my pray. I curved around the coast, Michael trailing behind my burst of adrenaline.
By the end of the night, I got my wool blanket and my hot chocolate. I got hugs, I got compliments, and I got pride. Only years later did the opposing team admit that the thought of a water attack had never crossed their mind. I never “captured” the flag again…but the memories I have from that night are enough to last a lifetime. For one night of my childhood, I was the hero.
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