I was told recently by a friend that I am an intimidating person because I am strongly who I am. I did not realize that such a thing could strike fear into the hearts of others. I’m of the mind that their imagined fear and intimidation is solely of their own creation. A momentary insecurity that I hope passes quickly, for their sake.
Do they perceive me as a threat to their being? Am I the very definition of ‘danger’? Or, are they too weak and changeable in who they are?
It must be difficult to live with that duplicity of personality. Pretending to be one way with some people and another way with others. A constant doppleganger with a deliberate myriad schizophrenic presentation.
Is it that difficult to be who you are? Do you worry that much about the opinion of others? Do you feel as though you are living your life in fear? Live free my friends. Live free.
Journal entry
Journal Entry: May 30, 2010 – Hiking Mt. Katahdin
Sunday May 30, 2010
Day 1
The summit of Mt. Katahdin is 5.2-miles North from the Katahdin Streams Campground up the Hunt Trail. Maybe it was nerves, the oppressive heat or the relentless mosquitos but I had a difficult time sleeping. And, Maxwell and I disagreed on the particulars of the sleeping arrangments of the sleeping bag. He and I jockeyed for space off and on searching for a happy medium.
Everyone was awake at 6 a.m. and we were at the trail head at 6:30 a.m. and hiking. Amy, aka Whoopie Pie, was off and running and son out of sight in the first mile. About two miles later Mary disappeared on ahead. They were both seasoned hikers and had done various trails up Katahdin several times. I took my time. There was no sense in exhausting myself trying to go at someone else’s pace. I was not there hiking to keep abreast with others, solitude was my purpose.
The Hunt Trail was pleasant and woodsy to start, following and winding left to right, along the Katahdin Stream. The incline steepened rather sharply around 1500-ft and the tall trees gave way to shorter denser pines. Around 3500-ft, the pines disappeared and the view of the sky opened, the trail turned into ledge and boulders. This is known as ‘The Gateway’, a narrow rocky trail that drops off on either side. The sudden gusting winds that day added to the challenge.
I reached a 40-ft section, which felt more like mountaineering than hiking, with rebar and giant boulders forming 5-ft and higher cliffs. I picked up Maxwell, about 7-8 times but his diminutive frame and endless energy was well-suited to this terrain. We are passed by several hikers. They were all quite pleasant and greeted Maxwell enthusiastically.
Once, beyond the boulders and rebar, we reached a plateau rock field that seemed to stretch as far as my eyes could see. Growing here and there in the ‘valleys’ formed by the rocks littering the ground were low-growing shrubs, a half-inch tall and decorated with small white flowers. Piled rocks, about waist-high mark the path ahead Eventually, stakes and white string contain your footing to a narrow 2-ft wide rock and sand path.
Not far into this section I meet Whoopie Pie and her mother, Mary on their way back down. They have already reached the summit and had lunch. Amy’s face is flush with excitement. She tells me she is going to head onwards to the Abol Bridge Campground, 8-miles just beyond the southern boundary of Baxter State Park, and tent there this evening. She’s twenty-four years old. Whoopie Pie had been in training for 6-months in preparation for the hike. And she was under a self-imposed deadline, to reach Hanover, NH by July fourth. There was going to be a pie-eating contest that she wanted to participate in there.
Ah, to be twenty-four again! Only if I could knowing what I know now. She and Mary told me that I could stay another night at the lean-to. It had already been paid for. Mary thought she might stay one more night if there was nothing available at the Abol Campground. Whoopie Pie was already past us and on her way.
Maxwell and I continued on and reached the summit. There were two signs, one was embedded in the face of a rock and the other, a free-standing sign. One tells of the donation of the land to create this wilderness park. The other proclaims the summit, the point that is the highest peak of the mountain. Maxwell and I sat, took in the view, found a spot out of the direct wind and eat our lunch. At 5250-ft and on that clear day, there was a perfect view, 360-degrees around us, of everything. We gazed out over the Klondike. We watched the clouds passing just overhead, so close it felt as if they could be touched with an outstretched hand. I asked a young man to take a picture of Maxwell and I next to the standing sign before we head back down the Hunt Trail.
The hike up had taken the better part of the day and it was early afternoon when we put away the remnants of our lunch. We crossed the rocky field and passed others heading to whence we came. When we reach the boulders and rebar, poor Maxwell gave me a frightened look. He had quite willingly let me take the lead and following, he had carefully navigated the same route I had taken along the trail. At that section though, he balked. I took off my daypack, borrowed from the Ranger’s Station and zipped him in. Only his neck and head were sticking out of the opening in the top. He did not move. He did not struggle. He did not whine or cry.
I turned around and began climbing down through that steep tricky section. Maxwell was so quiet, I dare say ‘happy’, that once past that, I momentarily forgot he was still in the pack. I popped him out not long after to walk behind me the rest of the trail down.
We walked through the dense pine and reached the wooded forest. We pause a moment to again look at Thoreau Spring. We do not linger. Later along the trail we take a break on a cliff to view the waterfall edge next to it, then looked down to the pool below. Two men appeared, having climbed up a narrow path leading down to the pool below. We stood and spoke for a while. They had met Amy on he way down and asked me if I was a ‘thru-hiker’ as well. I answer, “Yes, but I’m not hiking for speed or glory. I’m hiking for…”
The man nodded and finished my sentence, “For philosophy.” We exchanged a few other pleasantries and headed our separate directions.
Maxwell and I reached the lean-to around 4:30 p.m. Whoopie Pie and her pack are long gone. Mary is packing up her gear to head to Abol Bridge to meet her there. I had weighed my pack in at the Ranger’s Station yesterday, 55-lbs. Mary agreed to take some ‘dead weight’ off my hands and deliver it to a friend who lives in Thetford, VT near Norwich. Mary headed as soon as I gave her the garbage bag of items. There was no second-guessing to be had. I took my lightened pack to the Ranger’s Station…42-lbs…without water.
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Distance: 10.4 miles
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Journal Entry: July 10 2010 – On Forgiveness
I received a message yesterday from a person I thought I would never speak to again in my life. A person who, for years, I have refused to speak to, yet now I ask myself, “Why not?” For when I think about all the years I refused to talk to this person, I realized it was not my voice saying, ‘no’ but another’s.
This person has wronged me. And more than just wronged me, they have wronged others and in doing so wronged themselves. It is that realization that has made me decide to communicate with them.
This communication does not mean I forgave them, am still not hurt, and will not speak angrily or harshly to them. It simply means that I’ll acknowledge their existence on this planet. And there is nothing harsher than the denial of one’s existence.
A lesson that errant lying police officer has yet to learn. The one who’s name is not even worth mentioning because he is of no important significance in this world at the moment. Just another pesky mosquito to brush aside and keep stridently ahead of…and as we all know mosquitos are vampires, suckers, little leeches spreading unhappiness and sometimes disease. And they only strike, they can only latch on, when you’ve come to a still.
So I move ever forward, one foot in front of the other, because you can’t turn back time…but you can learn from past mistakes. A lesson, it saddens me too say, some will never learn. ~Nichole Hastings
Journal Entry: January 16, 2008 (updated July 6, 2010) – Peoplemade
Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.People-Made
We create these substances that can never be broken down into what they once were. That’s People-made. The creation, from base elements and changing them into something else.
This change in our environment is making itself apparent, revolting against its natural order of itself to try to accommodate these foreign substances. The natural order turning itself upside down in protest.
When mentioned, the unnatural reactions of the environment, people pretend to care. But we are a selfish race and we continue on in our people-made way of life. The society, The Civilization as we call it, barrels along its way, fueling its life and fighting for its survival.
We People, its willing slaves feed and nurture it. We protect and make excuses for its destructive nature. Selfish reasoning and careless excuses as we drive our motor vehicles and purchase plastic packaged objects.
The solution is so easy and so clear yet so repugnant to People. To live without these things that People have created would be against the group. To participate in The Society, to be a part of The Civilization is safe and creates this false sense of security. But all People know that it can turn on them at any moment as all People know that People can turn on them at any moment.
The thirst for competition, the kill, procreation have all been gentrified. The slash of fang and claw has become the dance of the mind and tongue. Yet the intent remains the same. To overcome another. To dominate. To take for oneself and leave others with less.
The ultimate People-made creation is money and this is what dominates our life. Who would think that such a useless thing could be so controlling. People live and breathe and die by it.
If only the People could walk away from it, forget its People-made importance putting their thoughts and energy towards more important matters. We can never become that Enlightened Society that we wish to be.
Our materialism is our greatest weakness. Yet with a simple change in the way we think, a redirection and different value focus it could be our greatest asset. If our materialism was focused on our natural environment and we completely valued that, instead of our People-made objects, what strength to be had in a materialistic nature and drive!
Oh to love the water, tree and rock! To admire the stars at night and the blue skies during the day! To gather the falling rain and seek out the bountiful fruits and plants! To take only what is needed and appreciate what one is able to get! What joy! What life! Oh to live!
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Transferred from Facebook NotesWednesday, January 16, 2008 at 8:01pm
Journal Entry: Measure for Measure – Act 3
I returned from the meeting with the two Hanover police officers with a great sense of sadness and melancholy. I herald and champion truth, compassion, understanding, ownership, civic duty and open-minded communication, yet not one of these prevailed this evening. The officers, who’s identities I had not even known, until this very evening, sat unyielding, unmoved and unrepentent.
They adamantly refused to acknowledge that there could be some understanding or new knowledge to be gleaned. They steadfastly refused to admit they falsified their report, putting untrue words in my mouth and in their account of the situation. The one officer, a man of 38-years denied, denied quite emphatically that he had said, “She’s nobody.” to a bystander who asked me my name. Who could forget a statement like that? I’ll remember it and the circumstances under which it was said until the day I die.
I went through the report, pointing out every inconsistency and falsehood. I spoke of the fork in the road, to just shrug and forget the trauma, or to press charges of which I have witnesses and an illegal act stated in the report by their own admission. I explained the third tine. My efforts were wasted.
The bystander, who had inquired my name, also witnessed that same officer threaten to ‘spray’ me. I was unaware that these are the tactics that can be applied to a person taken into ‘protective custody’. I stated, “I did not once feel ‘protected’ but threatened and assaulted.” All my words fell on deaf ears.
The ‘older’ and ‘more experienced’ officer rolled his eyes, berated me for interupting him and then spoke over me several times unashamedly. The other officer, clearly reluctant to speak of his own accord, could not or maybe did not know how, to have a voice of his own. He simply parroted the words of the other.
It fills me with fear for others, who may encounter these two, when they are on duty together. They will believe and act upon hearsay, go in ‘guns shooting’, then refuse to realize, they never bothered to ask any questions. They will create their own story, add in details to justify the ends to their means. They will never ever admit they ever did anything wrong, made a mistake, because to do so would mean they would have to apologize. And it became clear to me, that as officers of the so-called law, and as the brash officer had stated in the police vehicle to me, “We can do whatever we want when you are in our custody.”
My heart is sad for these two. I feel a great sorrow and sympathy for their souls. I wonder how they will treat their next ‘victim’ and I ardently hope it is without anger from this meeting. I worry that this fear, will come to be. I wonder if they realize, I was giving them every opportunity to do the right thing, and at the very least, apologize. I am assured, in spite of my warning at the beginning of the conversation, the officers will not think beyond, nor take anything I said as it was meant…sound advice and a sign.
I asked for three things, understanding of the difference between an anxiety attack and intoxication, so as to prevent mistaking one for the other. I asked the false statement they claimed I had made, to be rescinded and struck from the report. I asked an apology for their ‘nobody’ statement, for to say such a thing is to deny I am a human being on this planet, a citizen of this country, having a name and deserving of respect.
I pity them. I pity them the circumstances that have made them this way. I pity the path they are choosing and their lot, for simply put…their ‘reasoning is of common clay’.
ni • ko • ru 
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