A Far Off Place

It is a great relief, at times, to take a pause from the weight of reality, and find temporary respite in literature. Currently, I am reading A Far Off Place, Laurens Van Der Post's conclusion to A Story Like the Wind. It's the story of François, as true a son of Africa as a descendant of Europeans can be, and the desperate journey he takes across the Kalahari Desert with four companions, following the brutal day that changed their lives.

More than anything else, two things captivate me about this story.

The first is the naturalness with which François exists in the African bush. Natural though it seems, it comes not effortlessly, but following a life of being and training in the bush. The natural result of a long relationship with the land, its geography, flora, fauna, and climate. It leaves me both awed and impressed. All the more so as I have never felt so strong a connection to or a belonging to a place, having never spent such a length of time in one place, nor experienced such a single-mindedness of purpose. His familiarity with and adaptation to his environment makes him all the more ready to face unexpected circumstances and handle unanticipated challenges. It is a state of ease, and of readiness, that I respect, and in some sense, envy. I wonder if I will ever find myself in an environment to which I am as well suited, and as the answer is likely not, if I am consequently compromising my efficiency and ability to have an impact. It is a sobering thought, for it strengthens accusations of selfishness within me regarding my choices of place and endeavor. I would like to think of myself as motivated by a desire to contribute, but the ersatz nature of that assertion is all too often exposed, as again it is to me here. If I am truly interested in maximizing my impact, I should find one place where I can be effective, and commit to that place, and attune myself to its ways and needs. Where that is, seems from here to be a far off place indeed.

The second element which captivates me, is authority and certainty of the 'tappings' of Xhabbo. Throughout the book, Xhabbo, François's bushman companion, looks to some inner primative spiritual connection to give him guidance. The author describes these tappings as "a physical manifestation of a profound gift for intuitive apprehension of the future". The idea that the answer to the question of which direction one should take, both literally and metaphorically speaking, should be readily available simply by turning within oneself seems to me simultaneously both very familiar Quaker concept, and a very foreign one almost to be envied. It feels to me that is has taken years of wandering to find a path that I feel comfortable jogging along for a time, and even then without knowing if it is the best path to take, or even where it will lead. Though I as well try to turn inward for guidance, I have never emerged from such searching with anything like the certainty that guides Xhabbo.

I think, upon reflection, that I must add a third element. The challenges faced by François and his companions are hugely daunting, and requiring of them the depletion of every reserve. And yet, they with admirable drive, determination, and discipline, are able to summon up what remains in the depths of their beings to overcome them. I face nothing comparable to their difficulties, but even the relatively modest challenges that I face here sometimes seem to require more than I want to give. Even as I write these words (at 11:30 at night), a pile of unfinished work sits on my desk. I have of course, the cruel luxury of it not being my life at risk but those of often unidentified others, in the course of my work. Which makes me feel all the more guilty for not giving to the last ounce of my being, and all the more in awe of those who do. In a juxtaposition difficult to internalize , I am both shamed and inspired by this story.

All in all, I am grateful to Mr. Van Der Post for providing this gift of entertainment, respite, and internal analysis. I hope I can live up to the examples it has set before me.