Archival photograph by the author
In my case, flight was transformed into the luxury of solitude. ~ Ernst Jünger, Eumeswil (1977)On the Ides of January (January 13th), I returned to the cold woods of upstate New York to escape the stifling warmth of collectivism that afflicts the sprawling, insane asylum that is Gotham, and reconnect with my rugged individualism. A day once sacred to Jupiter and honoring household gods (Lares), I used this opportunity to withdraw and reorient myself toward God, pray for my ancestors, and replenish the strength required to remain ungovernable.
Armed with my Rosary, I embraced the solitude. Powering down my phone, the silence was not an absence but a discipline. The evening unfolded simply: coniglio alla cacciatore—rabbit in the old hunter’s style—shared with a crusty French baguette and a bottle of Etna Rosso, a volcanic red from Catania, followed by a Spanish brandy and a smoke from my Mastro Cascia bent briar pipe, crafted in Salemi, Sicily. These were not indulgences but restorations.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, January 14th, Feast of the Infant Jesus of Prague
