Category: Books Neil Writes

Silent Wind

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“Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.”
~ Rumi

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Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms, California

The earliest hint of light finds me wheeling my bike out of the hotel in Victorville. Following Highway 18 east into the little town of Lucerne Valley, I stop at what will likely be my last available water supply for 50 miles. Here, I leave Highway 18, and head further east on Old Woman Springs Road. (It’s also called Highway 247, but that’s a boring name…)

With no shoulder on the highway, I’m thankful for the very light traffic early on this beautiful Saturday morning. A fickle wind swirls in the mounting heat of the morning.

The wildlife along the road has changed with the landscape as I’ve moved further into the desert. For several miles, I pay close attention to chirping along the side of the road, assuming it must be some sort of ground bird. Eventually, I come to the conclusion that the chirping comes from small lizards (or maybe geckos) dashing across the road from one scrap of vegetation to another. I suspect they hole up in the shade as the day heats up, but here in the early morning, I can barely see them as the scurry across the pavement.

I also notice something less. Less noise. It’s really quiet. A mesmerizing quiet.

I pull over to have a little snack in the deepening quiet. A fierce and piercing sun scorches the desert floor around me, pushing the temperature upwards. I can see for tens of miles all around me, and it feels like the quiet reaches out across all those miles of baking desert. The light and silent wind swirls around here and there, playing across my skin, swirling dust in the road, hinting of a big wind to come. Continue reading “Silent Wind”

Desert Meth Dogs

“I learned later that the Lancaster area is known as a real meth making mecca in California. In that context, this little experience with the “desert meth dogs” makes a little more sense…”
~ Q: What do you call a dictionary using meth? A: addictionary.

My wheels are rolling across a broken road this morning. I think it’d be hard to find a ten square foot section of this pavement that isn’t fissured with cracks large enough to swallow a bicycle tire, so riding takes more concentration to stay upright than it would on decent pavement.

I’m well past Lancaster and Palmdale, concentrating on keeping my tires out of fissures in the road, when angry barking catches my attention. I haven’t noticed the high-fenced yard around a dilapidated house coming up on my left. The angry barking coming from the dogs on the other side of that fence has my full attention now. These are clearly mean and nasty dogs. They know they’re mean and nasty, and they want everyone around to know they’re mean and nasty.

Approaching their territory, I’m comforted by the high chain link fence running along the road, keeping the dogs in. The dogs are pouring toward the fence as I pass the front of the house, and I notice they’re headed toward the gate, where there’s a big gap in the fence.

It’s rare that I worry much about dogs. I get along great with them for the most part, and it’s usually clear they’re just letting me know I’m passing their territory. But right now, there’s no doubt in my mind these dogs mean business. They have no interest in scaring me off; they want warm flesh.

There are six or eight of these guys, snapping at each other for the honor of drawing first blood. Before I’ve even thought about it, I’m out of the saddle, and the adrenaline has cranked my output up into the red zone. I’m pouring as much coal as I can to the pedals, and the 35 miles per hour I’m able to reach keeps me just ahead of the fastest of the dogs.

After a few seconds of slow-motion terror, I see I’m leaving them behind, so I start to back off the speed. Normally, once a dog chases you out of his territory, he’s fine if you slow down. He’s done his duty, and moved you along the road. He’s not in this for blood; he just wants to keep the peace in his territory. He’s the sheriff, and he’s moved the vagrant out of town.

I don’t think these guys are wearing badges. They’re the desperadoes, and they are in it for blood. I’m 50 yards ahead of them, and they had backed off when they realized they couldn’t catch me. But when they see me slowing down, their interest in the chase renews with vigor. Immediately they begin sprinting up the road toward me again, hopeful that their prey might be faltering, fighting to be the one to bring me down. Of course, I crank the effort up again — this time leaving them far behind before slowing. I’m several miles up the road before I stop checking over my shoulder from time to time, to see if my desert meth dogs are keeping up the chase.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

The Droids You’re Looking For

“Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time. Which dog wins? The one I feed the most.”
~ Comanche elder

All eyes turn toward me as I walk into the breakfast room at the trucker’s motel in Lebec. My spandex shorts and bright yellow windbreaker standing out like a ballerina in a rodeo arena. Ignoring the stares, I grab a plateful of calories and plop myself down in a seat. The good buddies in the room decide I’m not that interesting after all.

I smile as I think about the scene from Star Wars:

“These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”

“Move along.”

When Obi-wan did it in the movie, it seemed like magic. But I think it’s just part of being human. If you accept a certain viewpoint or perspective as good, right and factual, and exude this into the space around you with confidence, then the folks around you seem to catch what you’re exuding. Sounds kind of New-Age-y, but it really seems to be how we work.

I think back to the fella who gave me a lift past the bad section of road yesterday. He absolutely accepted as fact the complete fiction that his media masters had been pouring into his brain every day. If they say it’s fair and balanced, then it must be, right? If they say I should be outraged, then I should be.

A room full of truckers in flannel shirts and dirty ball caps look at this odd duck walk into the room. He’s wearing a do-rag on his head, spandex shorts, and a bright windbreaker. He’s greatly outnumbered, perfect fodder for some early-morning harassing. Instead, the truckers all shrug their shoulders and go on about their business, accepting me without comment. All because I believe I belong there.

Be the Force…

My imagined Jedi powers have no ability to warm me in the pre-dawn chill. I find myself dilly-dallying in the warmth of the convenience store. I know I’ve got a descent first thing this morning, and I’m not looking forward to the chill and the wind.

It’s 35 degrees outside and a bitter wind blows through the pass. With full water bottles and pockets full of food, I’m grateful for the little bit of work that a half mile of climbing offers to reach the high-point of the pass. Warmed just a little, a blast of cold wind coming over the pass slaps me in the face, and I start an ice-cold descent.

I’m shivering hard as I pass through the little town of Gorman, which is one of the oldest continuously used roadside rest stops in California, dating to way before the time of cars and highways. This route was heavily used by Native American Tataviam people for centuries before the Spanish entered the area. Apparently the town is built on the site of the Tataviam village of Kulshra’jek.

I’m fascinated by roads and their history. Roads are the arteries that weave a civilization together. The settlements that spring up, evolve, and fade along those arteries are, in many ways, the definition of the civilization. As the traffic along a trading path grows, it becomes wider, and pretty soon it’s called a road. Technology enables machines that travel the roads, so the roads have to be improved and paved. Pretty soon, you’ve got a web of roads and highways used by millions, and a few of those are evolutions of a little dirt path once used by traders in the area.

Our lives are like that. Who we are is defined by the paths we’ve chosen in life. Some of those paths get reinvented and improved as we travel them; while others fall into disrepair as we abandon them. It’s nice to occasionally find the time to look back across a path well-traveled, see the changes our path has wrought in us, and the changes we’ve left behind us along the path.

There are some things in life that bring a deep “joy smile” to our faces. A baby’s smile when he sees his mother’s face. A lover who sees her beau after a long absence. Maybe an elephant standing at the edge of a cool lake on a hot day, spraying water on himself and feeling the refreshing coolness. A dog who’s found something particularly aromatic to roll around in, coming to his feet, shaking off and smiling at his new perfume.

For a cyclist, a gentle downhill grade with a tailwind creates that smile. Once I’m past the bitter cold and aching fingers of the first half hour of the day, that smile splits my face from ear to ear as I soak up a wonderful tailwind flying down a gentle grade toward Palmdale.

After a few miles I come to an accident in the clean-up process. There’s a line of cars waiting to get by, but it looks like they’re going to be there a while. I glide up to the front along the shoulder, and the patrolman waves me through. Now, life is getting downright magnificent! Until he opens that lane up, I’ve got zero traffic coming behind me. I grab the biggest gear I can find, and fly down the road as hard as I can.

The scenery around me transforms rapidly from the moderately wooded mountain pass around Frazier Park into the edge of a world with very little water. By the time I cross Highway 14 and make my way into Lancaster, there’s no doubt I’ve arrived in the desert.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

Learning Minimalism

“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupe

Paso Robles is smaller than I expected. It’s probably not much more than a mile from the north end of town to the south. It’s a quaint little town, and very bicycle friendly. I get a cozy homecoming sensation when I see my hotel, anticipating a warm shower and soft bed.

The young fellow behind the desk checking me in has a name tag that says “James,” and it turns he’s a cyclist. “Where’d ya ride from?” James asks.

I tell him my route from today, and he smiles and nods. “I’ve done that ride several times, over and back in a day. It’s a great ride, isn’t it?”

Over and back in a day? That’s 150 miles, with steep climbing. This guy’s an animal. I’m tuckered out after doing just half the ride. I try to keep the wimp factor as low as possible when I reply. “Absolutely, a beautiful ride. I’ll bet it’s a sweet day going over and back in a day.”

“Yeah, we usually ride over in the morning, have lunch at Lucia, then ride back after lunch. Steep coming up the Nacimiento Road, eh?”

My eyebrows climb my forehead. “Steep doesn’t start to describe it! I thought I was gonna fall over a couple times.”

His laugh is full of enjoyable nostalgia, his eyes looking off into the distance, as memories of what were probably wonderful rides wash over his face. Looking back at me, he asks, “So, where ya riding tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s a really big day for me — I need to end up in Frazier Park.”

I watch the joy of pleasant memories drain from his face, replaced by the agony of remembered pain. “I did that ride once. Hardest day I ever spent on a bicycle. Hell spread out over 150 miles. The winds across the valley spend the day sucking the soul out of you. Then the climb at the end of the day drops the hammer of ultimate despair on any joy left in whatever shell remains.”

Uh, oh. I might have bitten off just a bit more than I can chew. James must have seen the look on my face, and tries to give me some encouragement. “But hey, maybe the winds won’t be bad for you, ya know? But either way, be sure and carry lots of water, because it’s a long way across that valley from here until you can fill your water bottles – something like 75 miles, right?”

I’m not really feeling any better. “Right. Thanks. Yeah, 75 miles.”

Falling back into his front desk persona, he continues, “You’re in room 327, Mr. Hanson. Be sure and let us know if we can get anything for you, and I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Oh, and good luck on your ride tomorrow!”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Oh, one other thing. James, is there a way I can package up a few things and have you ship them for me?”

After a hot shower, I spread my stuff out on the bed. Sorting through it with more ruthlessness than I had back at home before I started the ride, I build a pile of “nice to have” items, ready to package up and ship back to Colorado. In the pile is my iPad, iPod, tiny speaker, Kindle, 700-lumen headlight, all the chargers associated with this electronic stuff, 4 of my tire tubes (leaving me still with 4), and a few other items. While I don’t put stuff on the scale, it seems to me that I’ve cut my weight in half.

When I packed for the trip, I wanted to stay under 20 pounds. I was able to do this while still including quite a few items that I might find handy. The iPad is only a couple pounds, the Kindle maybe a pound, the light a couple pounds. It all fit inside my 20 pound goal – why not take it?

My culture teaches that it’s good to have everything you might need. Having something is good, being without something is bad. When I was packing, my perspective was, “how much can I take, within my constraints?” Tonight, looking down at the gear spread out on the bed, I was asking myself, “how little do I need to survive?”

Minimalism. Simplicity.

Stuff adds up if you’re not careful. It builds up around you. Getting rid of stuff brings a cleansing sensation. Almost like “stuff” weighs down the soul. It happens to me when I clean stuff out of my house too: a liberating sense, a lightness, after I go through and give away or toss large swaths of stuff.

When I was younger, I was more focused on accumulating than on distributing and cleansing. Now, I find myself constantly reevaluating just how much stuff I want around me. How much clutter can I tolerate before it weighs on my soul? How much flotsam am I willing to wade through to see the world around me clearly? It keeps me from moving along the path. Each “thing” I accumulate attaches a string deep into my heart and soul, connecting me to the thing itself, making continued movement down the path difficult. An addiction to accumulation maybe? A cultural epidemic?

My extra flotsam on this bike ride is one tiny symptom, but it’s all around us. Look at how much of our life’s energy we put into “accumulating wealth.” We advertise how much wealth we’ve accumulated with the homes we live in, the cars we drive, and our pride in our continued pursuit of greater wealth.

But all our wealth weighs us down. It’s too much to try and haul up the steep hills of the back roads of life. Instead, we stay on the flat and busy expanse of the masses, where we don’t need to confront the tough climbs that might be encountered in the wilderness of discovering ourselves.

The sweetest moments in life lay waiting along the steep and winding backroads, hidden among difficult questions and tough issues. Finding them sometimes requires sorting through deep and honest introspection. But these steep and meandering backroads might be one of the best places in life to find glimpses of heaven, and to discover what that means to each of us.

Backlit Oak

Learning minimalism. Wasn’t this a common message among the great sages of the last few thousand years? Who was it that so wisely said it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy man to find heaven?

🙂

That’s on my mind this evening, as I look with satisfaction at the pile of “stuff” I’m sending back home. The last thing I want is seven or eight extra pounds in my bag that might slow me down if I catch a little glimpse of heaven somewhere along the road.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

A Steep Climb

“Mountains have a way of dealing with overconfidence.”
~ Hermann Buhl

Reaching the detour route, I take a left onto Nacimiento Road, a forest service road that’s been paved. Crossing a cattle grate as I leave the highway, I begin a seven mile climb that combines heavenly views with hellacious climbing.

Big Sur CoastAs the climbing begins, I drop into my lowest possible gear, and I’ll rarely leave that gear for the next hour and 20 minutes. The steep climb is about 3000 feet in about seven miles – about 400 feet a mile, an average of 7 to 8 percent. Maybe only 4 to 5 percent in some places, balanced by many places at 11 to 12 percent, a couple places at 16 to 18 percent. The U.S. interstate highway system allows a maximum grade of 6 percent. A 7 to 8 percent grade on a highway is considered dangerous; 9 percent is rarely encountered anywhere.

Pedaling up an 11 to 12 percent grade is gut-wrenching, even without the extra touring weight on the bike. At 16 percent, it’s all I can do to keep moving. The climb slaps some of the swagger right out of me, and has me giving serious consideration to those “nice to have” items in my pack. Tomorrow I have a VERY long day of riding, with climbing at the end of the day. Just how “nice” are those extra ounces and pounds I have in my pack?

While pouring my focus into the work of climbing, I also need to keep a little attention aimed at the road ahead and behind. For most of the climb, it would be impossible for two cars to pass each other at speed. The road’s just too narrow. When two cars pass, one needs to pull over as far as they can, while the other passes slowly. The constant tight turns and switchbacks limit the opportunity for even that sort of passing.

Notwithstanding the steep grade and narrow road, the beauty of the ride up the west slope of the Coastal Range is hard to express. The views back down onto the coast as I climb are stunning. Time after time, the road makes a sharp switch out on a ledge that gives me a view either north or south along the rugged coastline that takes my breath away. At one point, I’m stopped and admiring the view, eating a banana, when a convertible sports car steams past me headed up the hill. The driver is one of the blonde Beautiful People, sitting so low in the seat she can barely see over the hood. She waves at me as she passes, exclaiming, “Isn’t this just so beautiful?!”

Big Sur Coast

Well, yes it is. From the top of this bicycle, with an unlimited view and the time to take it all in safely, it’s beautiful indeed.

In those spots where the road tucks back into the mountainside, the landscape changes suddenly to a deeply forested thicket with towering redwoods. The transition from the openness of the mountainside to the depth of the thickets is usually marked by a zone of smaller trees covered in hanging lichens.
The grade gets much easier toward the top, but the temperature has dropped dramatically. I stop several times to enjoy wide vistas with views that seem to go forever back down the mountains and across the Pacific, but the stops are short as the moist air cools me rapidly. At the top of the climb, the road is deep into a forest, the air itself is quite cool, and I’m chilling down even faster. I stop, put on my jacket, and take in some fluid and calories.

Descending is downright cold, and I’m shivering hard. After a few miles of descending through forest, the landscape changes quickly and the temperature climbs. In less than five miles, I’m in a dry, grassy savannah much like my home on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado.
Nacimiento Road transitions into Fort Hunter-Liggett as the descent flattens out. The traffic is still extremely light, and I can only imagine how light the traffic would be without the road closure back on the coast. A warm tailwind follows me out of the mountains, painting a big smile across on my face.
Winding my way through broad oak savannah, I marvel at the massive old valley oaks spread thinly across the plain. Giant spreading trees, some of them 600 years old, they have massive trunks and beautifully shaped crowns. I stop to enjoy the silence and beauty of the place, leaning my bike against the side of one of these old Ents, and my back against the other side.

Old Backlit OakThis old tree has called this grassy plain home for hundreds of years. Basking in the bright sun, soaking up nutrients from the ground, it’s grown to this nobility at a pace I can’t comprehend. It welcomes me under its shade, and I wonder what other folks looked like and sounded like who might have shared this shade in the past, over the hundreds of years that this old graybeard has been growing in this spot, quietly waiting for me.

I’m in Steinbeck country now, broad grassy pastures with scattered ancient trees. I imagine Samuel Hamilton jostling down the road toward me in a wagon, Lee sitting beside me in the shade. A small breeze whispers through the grass close to me as I lay against the old oak tree, a touch of sun making its way through the branches now and then to warm me, the sea of short prairie grass stretching out for several hundred yards between this tree and the next. Relaxation saturates my body as my mind brims with contentment. Soft savannah sounds fade into the distance as I doze up to the edge of a nap.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

 

 

Big Sur Ents

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.
~ Hermann Hesse, Wandering”

 

Highways through the RedwoodsAt about twenty miles south of Carmel, the highway dips back into the forest, pulling me through a magical transformation from a breezy open seafront ride to a quiet and still ride through massive redwoods that are hundreds of years old. The road weaves through lush forest studded with redwood giants for about ten miles, a mixture of state park lands and private property with a gentle and hushed quality.

I’m deeper into Big Sur country now, and the sense of remoteness surprises me. Thousands of cars must drive this road each day when it’s not closed, enjoying the scenery, buying food and fuel from the little general stores that dot the side of the road occasionally, eating in the quaint little bars and restaurants. Yet, the sense of remoteness remains.

There’s a mystique to the place. It feels wild and untamed. Towering redwoods line the road. The unique coastal climate creates a tropical lushness in the forest. My mood and mindset have changed as I’ve moved into and through the forest. I feel more relaxed, less scattered, more basic. I stop a couple of times next to large redwoods, lean against them, press my hand to the bark. Ancient trees have a wonderful energy. Their time horizon is beyond what we can imagine. Closing my eyes, I can imagine Ents talking in deep and slow voices…

I’m reminded of my grandfather and grandmother. He lived to be almost 100, she to 101. Sitting with them always wrapped me in a unique sense of time and significance. The world they were part of was much bigger and broader than mine. I hadn’t lived enough years yet to have such a broad world. Yet, while I sat with them, I could feel their world. The breadth of it would wrap around me and make me feel a small part of it while we sat together and I listened to their stories.

My world is getting more broad as the years tick past. The things that seemed so urgent and critical to me when my children were young seem less significant now. My perspective has evolved as my world has grown. I can only imagine what it must feel like to view the world with the wisdom earned as a hundred winters pass.

Big Sur Coastline

That’s why we need extended families. We need grandparents to help raise our children. Their perspective is more broad, and they’ve hopefully gained wisdom and understanding along the way. While their eyes may have started to dim, they see more clearly than is possible without the experience behind those eyes.

I miss those grandparents, and think of them as I rest my hand on the trunk of an ancient redwood. I imagine them quietly and patiently touching me back through that trunk, smiling, staring from a world too big for me to imagine.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

 

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

 

 

The Beautiful People

“Fear is only as deep as the mind allows.”
~ Japanese Proverb

 

Carmel. Land of the Beautiful People. It’s cute and homey. Gives me a warm and comfortable feeling for the start of my adventure. After dinner I walk down to the beach to enjoy a beautiful sunset surrounded by all the Beautiful People. I call my brother Erik and wish him happy birthday. He thinks the trip is dangerous, and has been trying to talk me out of it for months. He’s got the worry gene too.

Carmel Beach at Sunset

 

I stand on the beach, talking to Erik, reassuring him that I’ll be fine. He tries one last desperate attempt to convince me to spend the time fishing with him instead, though he and I both know I won’t turn back at this point. What Erik probably doesn’t feel, though, is just how attractive that safe and comfortable alternative sounds to me right now, as I battle the little claws of doubt that have grown over the past couple of days.

Not that worry is a wholly bad thing. It can certainly help in the decision-making process, so long as it’s moderated. In the case of this trip, there are surely things I should worry about – crossing hundreds of miles of desert on a bicycle in the worst month of the year, for example – but should I let that worry keep me from a great adventure? Worry and fear are two sides of the same coin. They can paralyze us if we let them. Or we can turn them to our advantage, and use them as wise counselors, to be ushered from the room once their counsel is heard and understood.

The temptation is to usher fear and worry from the room as soon as possible, before we hear their wise counsel. The emotions that come with fear are uncomfortable. Sitting under a gnarled tree on the beach, bathed in a glorious sunset and a tiny breeze that’s salty and cool, I recognize the emotions that come along with fear, and I push them gently aside. Beneath those emotions is an adventure waiting for me, an adventure I’ve planned for and trained for. An adventure I wouldn’t miss for the world. An adventure filled with plenty of unknowns, some risks to to fear, and buckets full of real life.

I’m bathed in confidence and contentment as I walk back up to the Green Lantern Inn. Not cocky—just content that I sat with my fear, listened to it, absorbed it. Then turned and walked toward the adventure in front of me.

 

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

 

Perfectionism and Creativity

The Perfectionism Demon. Part 2

I talked in my last post about how the the demon of perfectionism can cripple everyday things like planning. The demon is far more vicious and unforgiving when it comes to the creative process.

I like to write. It’s a creative process for me. When I write, I’m releasing something from within myself for the rest of the world to read. Is it good enough? Does it really say what I want to say? Will I sound foolish? Continue reading “Perfectionism and Creativity”

Call For Readers – Bicycle Adventure Book

 

Want to help shape a book as it evolves toward publishing?

It’s Wednesday – cycling post day.

I’m making good progress on my next book, which is going to be a chronicle of my pilgrimage across the mountains and deserts of the west last year on my bicycle. I’m really enjoying the writing, and it’s coming along quite nicely. I’ve LOVE to find a couple folks who’s like to read an early advanced manuscript, or parts of it. If you have any interest in cycling, adventure, or pilgrimages, I think you’d enjoy the reading. It’s free, and your feedback will be REALLY helpful to me – helping me to learn more about what folks enjoy the most.

It’s a great chance to have a big hand in defining the shape of a book as it evolves toward completion!

Please contact me either through the contact form on my website or directly at neil@neilhanson.com or on Twitter at #neilmhanson, so we can work out what format works best for you.


 

“Peace” featured in Reviewers Bookshelf at Midwest Book Review

The October, 2011 edition of Reviewer’s Bookshelf at the Midwest Book Review featured the following review of “Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty”

Many thanks to Nicole and Midwest Book Review!

Death is the final frontier. It is the destination of every person to walk the face of the Earth. It is unavoidable, inescapable, unknowable – yet it holds such a mysterious fascination. Any book examining death from a personal perspective immediately becomes universal in scope. We all seek to find out what lies beyond. We yearn for answers, yet fear what is impossible to discern. In Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty, Neil Hanson recounts the spiritually charged moment of experiencing firsthand his father’s passing. In that hospital room, he witnessed the veil, separating life and death, briefly lift in his presence. It was a profound encounter that continues to shape his outlook on life.

Hanson wrote the book 15 years after his father’s death. It is composed in letter format as he attempts to correspond with his father on a spiritual plane. He hopes that by expressing his thoughts and emotions on paper the message will reverberate to where his father’s soul now resides. Hanson stresses two points. First, he says he’s sorry for any stress his youthful misbehavior may have caused and that he forgives his father for not always being there for him when he was growing up. Second, he tells his father that he loves him. Contrition, forgiveness and love are what Hanson yearns to tell his father from the very depths of his heart.

The emphasis behind this communication is that Hanson’s father was brought to the hospital in a coma from which he never recovered. The unexpected nature of the situation left no room for closure. Hanson was never able to talk with his dad again. While his body was still physically present for the remaining time they had together, his mind was not. This absence of words prompted Hanson to write this book. He longed to be able to communicate with his father one last time.

While Christian in nature, the book is pluralistic in tone. Hanson does not endorse any particular faith and in fact finds that many organized religions hinder people from connecting with the divine. He feels people are desperately searching for ways to experience God in their lives, and that they are not provided with the proper spiritual instruction on how to achieve this desire.

His own divine awakening began as a teenager at a high school wrestling tournament. When he was thrown to the ground during a match, he felt his soul leave his body. The atmosphere around him became suffused with light and harmony. Everything was silent, but for what seemed like a chorus of angels filling his ears. He felt a sense of peace he never knew existed. He had entered a state of utter bliss. It was magical, mystical. Until he floated up to the ceiling and noticed the dust on a light fixture, his soul with a pop immediately reunited with his body on the mat. Being able to notice something ordinary like dust, Hanson took to mean that he was still tethered to the ties of this world.

It wasn’t until his father drew his last breath that this doorway opened to him again. Albeit, this time he was only allowed to peek through the keyhole and not walk through the door. The same immense feelings engulfed him as his father’s soul became separated from his body. While ultimately feeling sad for their impending separation, Hanson also experienced an overwhelming sense of joy as he felt a divine presence enter the room. With his heart rapidly beating and tears streaming down his face, he was granted the privilege of witnessing his father cross the dividing line between life and death.

In a beautiful passage, Hanson recounts the joy of impending fathers in the hospital’s maternity ward at the arrival of their newborn babies. What happiness to be there for your child on such a momentous occasion. As his father’s soul slips away he realizes the circular nature of the journey. As the son is now there for the father as he returns to the place from which he was born.

Overall, Hanson beautifully relates the privilege of being able to witness the last breath of a loved one.