Finding Ulysses

During the deepest part of winter, the Trumansburg Creek enters a state of denial, eager to fit in with its geological surroundings, a hard igneous crust holding cold molten liquid at its core, hidden, still falling, insulated, dark, under snow, its lost brother from above. We can see right through its rocky pretense. Our creek in springtime rediscovers its flow, angry that it settled down to become part of the land, and rages forward, resentfully grabbing at the land that has dared to confine it, picking up soil and pebble and rock, and hurling it all abusively, breaking it apart, washing away the land’s uncleanliness on top of what ought to be sea.

Puerto Rican writer and Gimme man Garik Charneco is among us, watching the personality of Trumansburg Creek. He says that enclosed water hypnotizes him. He’s writing about much more than what he’s writing about, of course.

Desire that is free is not nearly as appealing to us as desire that struggles for freedom. On the shores of greater bodies of water, we enjoy the waves, the places where the tranquil unity of the ocean recaptures something of its ancient memories of falling, when it ran through our village, so eager to be gone.

The creek is not the water in it. The water thaws, but the falling of the creek itself is always frozen, an eternal path that never takes the journey itself.

Garik writes, “Trapped water always has some land telling it where to go.”

In this line, I suspect Garik has expressed his reason for writing.

Keep at it, creek, Garik.

There has been, in response to an article that I wrote here yesterday, a hard, provocative, useful conversation. In that conversation, I see people pushing, defending, and finding the boundaries of themselves in the community.

To spark this kind of raucous discovery is the reason that I created Finding Ulysses. It’s not journalism. It’s not reporting what is. It is discovering what could be. It’s finding, pushing, falling, stumbling, fighting to get to the home where we want to be. It is a return to something that never was, and a recreation of it. It is the spirit of Ulysses.

Whenever I hear people use phrases like “retaining the character of Ulysses” in a conversation about local politics, I smile to myself. Most of the time we forget that Ulysses is not just a place, but also a character. It is a legend.

We should, living in Ulysses, never forget Ulysses. We should never forget that we are living, in a name, in a myth.

If you still aren’t following me, call it an Odyssey.