It is now going on five years since we moved to our new home in a much more populous region of southeastern New Hampshire. Although we relocated mainly for proximity to family, we had high hopes that we would discover an active social and intellectual environment. Unfortunately that hasn’t proved to be the case. While it would be easy to blame COVID for derailing our plans, I think it runs deeper than that, more along the lines of what George Carlin called “lackawanna” in the local population. It’s not for lack of trying on my part. Early on, I joined several Meetup groups but all of them slowly disbanded, and most were too far away to conveniently attend anyway. Those that remain are “for-profit” ventures and nobody seems to want to get together solely to engage in conversation with like-minded peers. The tarot gigs I participated in were merely excuses for people to ask for free readings, and few of the attendees had anything to contribute to the discussion. There are a couple of metaphysical bookstores in the area but they only want to sell stuff, not serve as centers for lively discourse. Add to that the almost-daily traffic fatalities and the regional upsurge in drug-related violence and it is, all-in-all, a sad state of affairs.

I’ve been thinking that there is a very good reason why most serious esoteric practices are solitary pursuits conducted in private: to avoid the inevitable disappointment of failing to connect with those whom we might both learn from and teach. I wrote not long ago that as a species we are nowhere near as spiritually evolved as we like to think we are, and the truth of that is demonstrated on a regular basis where I live. I suppose I could move to Boston, but having traveled there for medical reasons ten times in the last four months, both by car and by train, I find that there is no way I could tolerate such crowded living conditions; as the saying goes “you can’t take the country out of the boy.”

It was certainly no better when we lived near the small towns of Keene, NH and Brattleboro, VT. The residents of the former pride themselves on maintaining an outpost of sophistication amid a sea of unwashed hillbillies (college-town hubris and a “grand delusion” if ever there was one), while the latter – at least those who aren’t the “trust fund” offspring of wealthy NYC ex-patriots – dispense with the veneer and go straight for the hipster grunge. There was perhaps more going on in Brattleboro due to the neo-hippie vibe, but after living near there for 38 years I can say with confidence that it barely has a pulse. The best thing about it was that we lived within an easy drive of the Massachusetts Tarot Society’s monthly meetings, the loss of which was one of my main regrets in departing the area (well, that and the local trout fishing).

That leaves me with internet exchanges, which are just as vulnerable to misunderstandings and misconceptions as face-to-face dialogue but without the meaningful eye contact and body language. That’s not to say they are without their charms, and I have made online friends that I would not have met otherwise. But, like tarot reading itself, metaphysical conversation is much better when experienced as an interactive art form. I’m not giving up all hope, but I’ve definitely had to become more philosophical about the shortage of interpersonal stimulation. Fortunately, a couple of my local family members have an interest in what I’m doing, which gives me an outlet for the occasional reading.