Mysterious Island, Mysterious Man. Shades. No Voice to Hear.

I am now half way through Jules Verne's Mysterious Island. If all art is a reflection of the artist, how can a novel not be a description of its author. My question in reading Jules Verne's story, is where is the drama? I can only imagine that our present world we live in has over done itself upon drama and a persons personal relevance. Mr. Vernes tale is of four men's survival. Currently in the book the men have nearly been living on the island together for a years time. During this fictitious year not one of the men have personal criticized another man. Not one of the men have taken a day off of working toward their survival other than Sunday. Not one of the men have questioned another man's opinion. I am amazed the statement that this book is bring across, not by what it has directly mentioned, but by what it has refused to mention. In a era in history where the Nation of the United States was fighting amongst itself in a Civil War, a author writes a book about the heart of human survival that applies to nothing of the individuality of man's independence, but applies in every way to his cooperation. I don't believe Jules Verne wrote the book as a testament or a allegory for life, I think he wrote it as he so honestly believed it. The reason there is no hate and condemnation between the survivors, is because the Author does not believe in it. Not saying he does not think that hate exist, but rather he does not use it as a hope or a dream in his life. I think about myself, and how often I want to believe that hate can fix my problems. I harbor painful feelings in hope that one day I will be vindicated by them. I have not yet finished Jules Verne Mysterious Island, but I am already excited about what it is teaching me. 

( I finished Jules Verne's Mysterious Island.)

I am in the middle of yet another fine literary adventure told by the author Rafael Sabatini. I enjoy his wonderful dialogue between characters. Each role produces a shade in the shadows of intent of human nature.

My barber has no voice due to lung cancer. Still he is a joyful engaging fellow. Yesterday he was telling me a story through his whisper of a voice. He came to a part in which he was talking about a married woman. He reach out to my left hand and grabbed my ring finger to emphasis his point in the story. Afterward I was so impressed by the man's desire to communicate that he would reach out in the midst of our talking and grab my ring finger to emphasis a point. What a amazing way to be heard, when you have no voice.

In search of Wa. I don't feel anything at this Height.

In the book, "Japanland. A year in search of Wa."The author tells a story about encounter a couple of business man walking home from the bar. The Men were singing loudly and expressing themselves as though they were children again. When the business men saw the author, they straightened themselves up right in front of her and held their composure as she passed. The author used this story to give a example of the fragment portions of these Japanese Business Men's lives. Saying that they are called daily to be professional that when joy comes upon them it enraptures them to a child like state. Happiness is a high of the body. Even more interesting is the question who can we be happy around? “I have never seen you like this!” Has the person never had fun with you, or have you never felt safe enough around the person to express your joy.

On a day like today I only really feel like trying to write all day long. I starting to get the feeling that the rest of the world is waiting for me to catch up in life. I feel like I missed a inherited social pressure that is given to all human's to hold us by instinct to safe conduct. I have heard rumor that there were members of a Indian tribe that were always in high demand to work for constructing skyscrapers. The reason being is that these Indian's were claimed to have been born without a sense of heights, or rather “ The Fear of Heights.” I don't know this story to be true, but I don't believe it to be false either. I am simply saying that I feel like I was born in absences of something. This absences is both a tool and a hindrances just like the Indians who worked on the skyscrapers. To be born without Fear? Or to need fear? What is the gift and what is the curse, in either state of being the other person knows the least about the other.