*Photo: The morning walk took me to this mural that wasn’t all that easy to photograph as it’s highly detailed and so I’m only sharing a small part of its medieval dreamlike and simultaneously nightmarelike imagery.

One goes somewhere to do a thing, or maybe they don’t. Maybe they want to do a thing but are ill-prepared; on the other hand, it could be the place that is ill-prepared to support the intentions of the visitor.

Five hundred years ago one simply needed to be present and in possession of a modicum of intelligence for the facility of doing what needed to be done. Here I am in the modern age of consumer convenience, but what I want is not easily had. I walked miles around the old town of Erfurt today looking to enjoy a coffee with some needed wifi so I could better demonstrate my languid strengths to those who might be passing by, but finding that elixir of onlineness is like finding a unicorn in the desert.

*Photo: Bread, along with beer, though not necessarily together unless we are talking pretzels, are the two main food groups in every German’s life. Should you wonder just what’s so important about these particular pieces of bread, then you are obviously not German because, for someone who doesn’t get to see this every day, it is porn for the gluten addict.

At the main train station was a Starbucks outside and a Coffee Fellows inside. One promised serious foot traffic and noise rushing by while the other a kind of familiarity that I’m trying to escape. I chose the little-known brand, sacrificing the quieter location for the bustle.

Settled in I was able to tie up some loose ends in order to clear the slate for today’s experience. What big things are on the menu you probably didn’t ask about? Well, I’m telling you anyway because this is my forum, so there’s that. I have nothing. I’ll be trying to explore so little of nothing that I will attempt to stay out of my wandering mind’s eye in order to go nowhere and find much.

*Photo: When moving into new apartments where hallways are narrow, streets are narrow, and German ingenuity broad, you create a solution that allows for a more efficient method of accomplishing something that would otherwise be inefficient, then that system of smart tools will be deployed instead of relying on mere brawn.

There’s a problem with this idea of finding much. You see, thinking ended long ago while we walked through our environment. Today, we are gleaners of inconsequential trash stacking up in our electronic devices, proof of having been there and done that. But just what have we done? We’ve done nothing. We cannot do anything. Walking in a cathedral has no meaning; standing before a waterfall is superfluous, and taking selfies in front of a statue is an insult to the iron that rests upon the stone. Why is this? What is it that we are trying to accomplish?

Is anyone tying together the bits of history, studying the effects of surface hydrology and what it might mean to the underlying bedrock, or even trying to find a deeper meaning to the aesthetic of majesty that flows with water cascading over an edge to fall below? Hell no. Okay, certainly, when snapping the selfie with you and the guy on a horse with really big balls (the guy who earned his own statue probably had really big balls, too), do you give two cents as to why he’s there or why you are there?

*Photo: Digging out the ruins that lay below a house for centuries is the job of the team that’s sifting history from its tomb. I asked the guys from what period they were exploring and was informed that it was Roman.

I’ll bet a dollar that the majority does not have the luxury of asking questions like, “Why?” You see, we can hardly hear ourselves, and should we find the time to explore the self, do we have the intellectual capacity to do so? Let’s say there’s a hint of that potential: where does one go to taste the sweet relish of mind stuffed within our heads? The ascetics of 500 years ago entered a monastery and isolated themselves within the stone walls of the church and grounds in order to concentrate on a conversation with God. Prior to arriving at the need to isolate themselves, people were able to walk a street without the distraction of two-ton hunks of aggressive steel moving near light speed in their general direction. They didn’t or couldn’t contemplate moving out of the way of a bicyclist. Electrical anything was centuries away.

When I walk through Erfurt, I encounter tourists negating space with the mindless activity of collecting trophies to show people who don’t really care that they posed, in the same way a thousand other visitors that day did in front of “popular object du jour.” Through this noise, both audible and visual, we are taken to distraction where we can never find our minds as they sift the pollution of the soundscape.

Combine this futility with the relative fact that many of us do not have enough information or knowledge to be considerate of the machinations of the inner mind, and we then become complicit in allowing our brains to lay fallow, never to burst forth with a flowering of curiosity.

*Photo: Visiting the church here at the Protestant Augustinian Monastery where Martin Luther lived from 1505 until 1511.

What do we do, where do we go, how do we find the place where people of 500 and 1,000 years ago went to listen to themselves? Not only are we actively destroying our environment for the continued reasons of convenience, but we have obliterated the city for the sake of allowing those on a mad dash to a consumerist existential certainty, better known as “owning shit,” to run rampant through the landscape destroying any semblance of serenity.

As I think about things, I wonder about the effects of war and plague on the imagination that arises out of the inner dialog of that part of humanity that survives these tragedies where extraordinary population reductions have occurred. I loathe wanting to realize that it is after these convulsions that rip at the fabric of complacency that we whip our minds into a froth with the intent of repairing what was just a dark historical moment that threatened our cultural underpinnings.

*Photo: A single candle burns inside the chapel here at the Protestant Augustinian Monastery. The original facility was built back in 1277.

The very thought that a maelstrom is a salve for a decaying body politic where the survivors must transcend the conditions that laid the foundation for repair is not the kind of comforting idea I hoped to find today. All of a sudden, it appears self-evident and imminent that the lubrication of civility must be run out of the machine, thus triggering a seizure. Out of the ruins of our own frailty when change demands strength, it would appear that rather than find the muscle and the will to correct our path, we instead run to panic, and if nature is not taking action against us, we turn within to commit a kind of mass suicide.

In a world that requires care and cooperation, are we seeing in the rise of nationalism the kindling of hate that can deliver us to war? Is there a subconscious effort that is about to whip humanity into a battle of cultures where the bet is that the West will remain the reigning hegemon? Are our egos a pestilence using advanced weaponry as a kind of virus on other humans we are afraid are too dissimilar to ourselves to be healthy for our own well-being?

*Photo: This is the cloister of the Protestant Augustinian Monastery. It’s an interesting thought that within this covered walkway, Martin Luther would isolate himself during moments of reflection over 500 years ago, seeing almost exactly the same view of things as we see them today.

Well, that’s my food for thought on this fine Monday as I find myself walking in Martin Luther’s footsteps. When he was looking at the corruption of the Holy See and the Catholic church as a whole, I would like to think that if he were alive today, he would be railing against the corruption of politics at the behest of economic activity that is abusing their power by dividing people along cultural and racial lines.

Capitalism is dragging us away from nature and doing its best to ensure our compliance in the act of the purchase instead of the act of abeyance that would allow us to recover from our overindulgence. We are not only fat and diabetic from our poor diets; we are mentally fat and diabetic from our sugared brains that haven’t seen the light of reality since TV dinners of the 50s and saccharine caricatures we’ve been feasting on for decades, culminating in the absurd antics of the current climate that defies logic. We pray at the altar of celebrity in the nave of social media. We are vacuous from the hollowing out of our ideals that were replaced with want of brightly candy-colored shoes, silly clown-like fashion, and a type of alternative attitude we falsely believe is edgy.

*Photo: The library of the Protestant Augustinian Monastery, though I’m not sure about authenticity as there wasn’t a placard explaining the room.

We pay false lip service in stating that the bourgeois is dead, that the middle class has disappeared, the exact opposite has occurred. Our inner cities in prosperous regions of countries have learned just what the luxury of satisfying every want can mean to them. They want to protect their urban civility, Starbucks, cheap airfare, and the ability to take what they want. This is the power of the purse that can be milked to foment fear, and there are people on the right who fully understand this. Threaten to take away my purchasing power or ability to pay a mortgage, and you will have me happily paying any cost as long as it’s only monetary to rid the landscape of the scourge who threatens my local Whole Foods and way of consumer life.

*Photo: There are a number of rooms in an exhibit where visitors are introduced to an interpretation of what Martin Luther’s experience might have looked like.

Okay, this is definitely going downhill into Rantville, where I’m taking large swings into the realm of nonsense, but I came to write, and writing is what I’ll do. Time to change channels.

*Photo: Praying and contemplation, aside from the rare meal were the order of the day for a monk looking at how to best work for God.

While I walk around this town where Martin Luther walked so many years ago, I’ve been trying to move away from the travel narrative that only shares with the reader my sense of the aesthetic based on my particular observations. While this is great for Caroline and me reminiscing about our adventures, it doesn’t bring me to what could have otherwise been in my mind.

Martin Luther was lucky that he had a monastery to turn to as a refuge where isolation and inner dialog were a major part of the program. Today, we sign up for yoga and then buy the appropriate ensemble to feel better about our efforts at self-improvement; that’s fine, but where’s the mind yoga? Martin Luther was certainly exercising the mind when he walked to Rome back in 1510 only to find himself disgusted with the Catholic Church and its hypocrisy. Thus, his mind was set in motion to alter the history of literally everyone in Europe and more than a few others in faraway lands.

*Photo: Somebody or a number of those somebodies have been yarn bombing Erfurt. This one in the tree was a hidden specimen that required leaving the side street I found them on.

Thinking of thought like the knitting of an object using a specific pattern, we must first collect the required materials before we can bring together the many threads to create the whole. Obviously, we will need to understand the basics of knit and purl stitches, and likewise, with our minds, there are requisite materials and techniques for learning we must acquire. I have to wonder out loud just how much effort the average person is making to that end or are the majority satisfied with the routines they’ve mastered and that pay the bills?

*Photo: Sometimes, you must crochet things to get what you want when on a yarn bombing mission. This motif is from the 2nd Order of Chicks first established back in 1611 following the banning of the Yellow Beaked Brigade of Brigands.

*Photo: I guess this has become a kind of selfie where I find it memorable to capture the space where I’ve been writing. There’s an incredible difficulty, though, in finding the right coffee shop, the majority of them do not have wifi, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to visit a Starbucks while in Europe.

*Photo: Dinner tonight is at the Köstritzer “Zum güldenen Rade,” where authentic Thüringer cooking is promised.

As is usual when ordering water in Germany, I opt for sprudel, a.k.a. water with gas. Also, as has been typical, I don’t think I’m drinking enough over the course of the day, so I opt for the 0.75-liter large bottle of sparkling water.

First to be delivered to my table this evening was a tasty dish of arugula with elderflower and mustard dressing. I don’t know how Thüringian it is, but I felt a deep need for some fresh greens, and nothing satisfies quite like some spicy rocket doused in holunderbluten dressing.

Attention Caroline: Do not read the following. The German bread cannot be denied and must be eaten, diabetes be damned. Good for me they are only like four thin mints worth and won’t go making me explode Monty Python style.

Next up in my feast of Thüringian delights is a wild garlic cream soup. Fortunately, it wasn’t rammed onto my table 10 seconds after I finished my salad. It’s nice being in a restaurant that doesn’t need to turn tables to ensure good tips for the server. The suppe war Sehr gut, lecke even, that’s Germlish for, “The soup was very good, yummy even.”

Dinner itself ended up being too much as I’d ordered a Thüringer Klößen (dumpling) with my mustard-marinated pork cutlet that was smothered in grilled onions and apples. The dumpling was served with a side of dark beer gravy. Earlier with my soup, I was tempted to order a second portion of bread, but remained strong and denied myself the indulgence (it’s my effort to channel Martin Luther here at the dinner table). You should know that Caroline will never believe that I exercised my inner will, actually using discretion in not ordering more. If she does believe I passed on more bread, it will only be because she thinks I was saving room for dessert. God, I hope they don’t have apple something or other on the menu of sweets.

After sitting here for nearly two hours, it was time to get my walk back on.

*Photo: After having walked past a couple of skins in a slightly sketchy corner of town, I had to reluctantly pass through this tunnel that smelled exactly like you might imagine.

My walk took me across town, only about a mile really, over to the Topf & Sons building, which is now a memorial organized by the Buchenwald Gedenkstaette. On the site is the former headquarters building that served the company that was complicit with the Nazis in building the ovens that cremated the Jews of Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Dachau, and other camps.

*Photo: The work of Doktor Molrok. I need more time to figure this one out.

*Photo: This is the Schmale Gera stream that runs through town. Back in the day, it was used to run mills across the village.

This placard is in the elevator of the apartment building I’m staying in. Just in case anyone forgets that it’s preferred that nobody burns the building down and that men shouldn’t simply piss in any old place they want. The big one, other than no bike riding in the halls, is that they don’t want your dog shitting in the building. Seriously, does anyone think it’s the 17th century and that their dog is some kind of pet of the king of France taking a dump in the corner of Versailles like it’s just normal or something?