Joseph Campbell’s The Inner Reaches of Outer Space: Metaphor as Myth and as Religion mentions Black Elk and his concept of the center of the world, “which is everywhere and from which he viewed in a ‘sacred manner’ all things. It is not a geographical place, but the state of mind of one released from the vortex of delusory desires, fears and commitments by which lives in this world are compelled to their sorrows and pains.” This mentality is akin to a stage prior to moksha or nirvana, in Vedanta and Buddhism respectively.
Before you think I’ve fallen off the far reaches of outer space, let me state that neither do I apply Campbell’s analysis to anything metaphysical, nor do I assume the wisdom achieved by the likes of Black Elk. Instead, I utilize the idea to expand on a recent realization: I feel most comfortable in New Orleans, Madison, downtown Chicago, and in the homes of my closest friends because these places are the center of my world. They embody my state of mind, from which I view all things in a healthier and more peaceful manner, if not sacred.
It’s not a trivial thing to know where you feel the most empowered, the most refreshed, the most unthreatened, the most yourself. As I said in a recent email to a friend, “Guess people like us should thank our stars that, at the least, we know who we are and where ‘our place’ is.” Even if we can’t live there all of the time, or haven’t been there yet.
New Orleans = the pull of a hurting, yet strong, friend.
The recent police shooting of an angry and knife-wielding black man has me a bit upset given that it occurred three blocks from my home, the whole sad incident started at the Walgreen’s I shop and get my prescriptions filled in, and that several officers fatally shot a man, albeit a large and mobile one, armed with a knife.
But, the head prevails and I remind myself that this is nothing new in New Orleans, where I used to hear gunshots fired across the street from our first place there. I remember instances of D telling me to get away from the windows and quickly. This time it’s the cops doing the shooting. Should I feel good that the situation was attended to by approximately 10 NOPD officers?
Chris Rose scribes everyone’s fears and hopes in his latest, “Is it depressing here? Yes. Is it dangerous? Maybe. The water, the air, the soil … I don’t know … But we’re going to help pick up the pieces. Starting today.”
Chicago = my kind of big city. Hectic to stable in a matter of minutes.
A great evening on ol’ Halsted followed by a nice day of walking through Millennium Park, museum wandering and shopping on Michigan Ave. the next day.
Two favorite Halsted haunts are now gone, however – first, Private Idaho, and now, The Prodigal Son. R.I.P., Trappist ales with un-subtitled Kung Fu movies and a bad punk band playing in the background.
txyankee and Mimosa understand Chicago’s allure, and the former hasn’t even been there.
Madison = intelligent calm and welcoming hearths.
Lounging with my laptop and a blankie (and watching a Discovery Channel show on Houston!) on a cold Wisconsin afternoon after Christmas. Ate everything everywhere. Drank everything everywhere. Tonight, great Indonesian food on Willy St. followed by a movie at South Towne, despite sinus issues and what feels like a rave in my stomach.
It’s nice to have lived in a few varied and great places and to have made some of the warmest friends on this planet. They all provide home (and cute kitties and pups) on the go. That said, there’s no place like your own. Soon enough.
I have yet to visit New Orleans or Madison, but as someone who can change locales thrice in one year, I think I’d like and probably take advantage of them all. Trappist ales are aplenty, though, at places like The Map Room, minus the Kung-Fu but with plenty of authentic, collectible National Geographics and a selection of over 80-some international beers.
So far, oodles, Tilo, Chai and brimful have displayed an interest in visiting New Orleans (Tilo and oodles lived there when they attended Tulane). We should make it a BIG desi blogger chick party! I’d like to get maisnon and ANNA in on it, too, given the amount of fun they bring to their parties.
As for Trappist ales, I enjoy one once every two years, if that. Red wine is the staple now. For me, it’s all about the ambience and cool juxtaposition of cultures that places like The Prodigal Son offer – large murals of monks graced the walls while Chimay or Orval was served at the bar embellished with tiki icons, all while Kung Fu movies played on the various TVs and a young punk group thrashed about in the back room. I’d sit there and drink water just to take in the atmosphere.
Where have all the places with character gone?