Changing Perspectives

While I remain an Atheist insomuch as the existence of an actual sentient deity is concerned, I have involved myself to some degree over the years with spiritual matters- that yearning in humanity to become more, and to arrive at a better understanding of the world. It is an issue I have wrestled with for many years, the attempt to distinguish truth from falsehood, to understand what is referred to as enlightenment. Maugham was correct in his evaluation of enlightenment in The Razor’s Edge in which he quotes the Katha-Upanishad: "The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to Salvation is hard." I understand Salvation in this context not as the Western concept of life after death, but rather as an abandoning of suffering and attaining enlightenment. Not something to be had in the afterlife, but something to be enjoyed now, in this world.

The discovery of the Buddhist notion of mindfulness, also present in Stocism (which comes as close to my beliefs as any system I have thus far studied), helped me to somewhat escape many of the preconceived notions and to approach at least an initial understanding of the universe. This notion of “god", at least as I understand it is not a sentient being, it is more like nature incarnate. It is nothing more than the “way and order of the Universe“. It is difficult to express really. It simply is. It is as water, fleeting and insubstantial; an ever-changing substance that changes even as you attempt to grasp it in your fist. From the Tao Te Ching:

The tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao
The name that can be named
is not the eternal Name.

As the origin of heaven-and-earth, it is nameless;
As "the Mother" of all things, it is nameable

Free from desire, you realize the mystery.
Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations

These two spring from the same source but differ in name; this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery.

I am at last able to begin to understand this passage and much of the rest of the Tao Te Ching. The whole notion of the yin and yang, where each aspect of reality has its counterpart that both opposes and compliments it. It is not some far fetched concept at all (as I had thought for so long). It is no more complicated than saying this: without something to compare it to, a thing can not be said to exhibit certain characteristics. Strength cannot exist without weakness, else how could the fact that it is strong be ascertained? And as long as the two exist, and they do and must, there will be varying degrees of strength and weakness. A thing can be said to be strong only to the degree that another thing can be measured as weak, and vice versa. It is the same as saying that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. It is also possible to cast the notion of reincarnation in this same light. Matter is never lost- everything returns to energy, a continuous cycle.

And none of these ideas are incompatible with Atheism, or with science for that matter. Both science and mindfulness are methods of understanding the universe. Science consists of categorizing objects and phenomena based on certain criteria and in giving names to these objects and phenomena. Mindfulness consists of analyzing the universe, but in a manner that involves discarding the manmade nametags so that one can see each object in its true light; unhampered by preconceived notions, but no less rational.

While I lend little credence to theology, the monotheisms in particular, it is possible to look at the various religious texts as feeble attempts at understanding the universe; analogies made by people with imperfect tools for observing the mysterious history of the universe. While there are nuggets of truth, and wild exaggerations, there is also much evidence of various agendas and rather distasteful clinging to tradition in the face of the discovery of new evidence. Additionally, there is much evidence of man’s baser characteristics in these works (greed, intolerance, the need to feel superior, etc). I believe that where theology errs is in assigning attributes to this “force” (read: god, Tao, Gaia, Logos, etc). It is in the details, the specifics. Particularly in fundamentalism, where adherence to even minor details and differences can inspire hatred to the point of murder. In a more global outlook details about something as enormous and thus far mysterious as the universe would have importance only so far as their veracity is concerned. When these details are arrived at rationally, with right thinking and proper contemplation, one will see that there is no reason for contention, because everything is one, all part of the “Tao“, and ultimately all will return to it- even if one‘s conscious self is no longer in existence. It is less about faith and more about…acceptance. It is not a clinging, it is a release. It is about arriving at a point where faith is a null issue, where one no longer needs to have the final answers, even to the point of manufacturing them. It is simply about being. None of us are important enough that the universe would pause even for a nanosecond to accommodate us, and we are all of us made infinitely important by the mere fact that we are an insignificant part of the greater whole.

I think I may have come across as sounding vaguely “cosmic” and new age, which was not my intention at all (and which is not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself). It is really just a matter of a rather abrupt change in perspective. I hope that I have conveyed my view in some small way.

California-Texas Trip: Part Two

This journey has left me nothing if not more thoroughly convinced of the sanctity and majesty of the world’s remaining natural areas, heavily-touristed though they may be (and as one of those very tourists, I suppose condemning would border on hypocrisy). I am equally certain of the need to protect these areas from the encroachment of society at all costs. The beauty of Yosemite is truly staggering, rivaled in my journeys only by the great limestone peaks surrounding Yangshuo and Guilin in southern China- enormous, verdant pillars of stone which seem to have been dropped randomly upon the patchwork of terraced rice fields and simple villages. Yosemite, by contrast, consists of a glacier carved valley surround by a series of granite behemoths. Towering high above the valley floor, these silvery peaks jut into the cerulean splendor of the sky in a violent clash of unyielding stone and scintillating sunlight.

The valley itself is a forested collage, a delicate imbuement of greens and yellows, spattered with the erratic, titian brushstrokes of autumn. A number of meadows and small lakes dot the landscape. Also scattered about are the various camp sites as well as a charming wooden chapel and the community of Yosemite Village. It was near this small village at Camp #4, perhaps a mile distant, I set up my tent. After Jen’s departure and a very wonderful, very hot shower, I returned to camp and fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day was my last, and I intended to take in as much as possible. Waking early, I struck camp, packed my belongings, and drove to Mariposa Grove along Highway 41. I cannot recall the length of the drive, but it was at least an hour. Upon reaching the grove, I set out on foot along the trail to explore the many giant sequoias. Though there were some few other tourists, most of the time I had the place more or less to myself, a fact that only intensified the isolated, otherworldly tranquility of the grove. Located along the trail are various signs offering insight into the trees and the other flora and fauna in the park. Sequoias are born of seeds from the smallest cone of any conifer, yet they grow into the largest. They are aided in this endeavor by a number of creatures, who seem to live in a sort of symbiosis with the trees. Among these are a particular type of squirrel which obtains its sustenance from the covering of the cone and subsequently scatters the seeds which will sprout new sequoias. The sequoia has a very shallow, easily damageable root system. One of the placards in the park compared the tree to a nail standing on its head. Quite a amazing actually, particularly when you note the immensity of the trees.

I spent some four hours or so in the grove, and, but for misreading a sign and taking a wrong turn which resulted in my walking some three miles or so in the wrong direction (and observing some rather large, somewhat disquieting bear tracks- there are no more grizzlies in Yosemite only black bears), the hike was quite easy. Upon completing my exploration of the grove I drove up to Glacier Point (a trip of about thirty to forty minutes), a vantage point offering perhaps the best view in all the valley. It is here that one truly develops an idea as to the vastness of the park. I believe it was possible to view a fourth of the park from this point, though it could have been more. At any rate, even this portion of Yosemite is enormous. A great many of the pictures I took are from Glacier Point, including most of the pictures of Half Dome, perhaps the most readily recognizable feature in the park. While it is possible to hike up to Glacier Point, it is a rather formidable hike of some 14.5 miles and my legs were in no shape for another strenuous hike.

And so, with a renewed since of the beauties of nature, I left Yosemite and returned to Yosemite Bug Rustic Mountain Resort Hostel. I was greeted in the dorm by a young(er than me) Englishman, a technical wizard studying for his doctorate in computer science. We talked for some time about various subjects and then I took a shower and set off for the hostel’s restaurant. The meal consisted of mashed potatoes and roast beef, served up with a hearty helping of vegetables. Add to this a couple of Newcastles and I was in heaven. Enter our young English gentleman (I do not recall his name, alas I have slept since then- and several times at that- you may think of him as Ringo if you so desire) again for a few more beers and some conversation. With all due respect to my new friend, this was perhaps the dullest exchange I have ever been forced to endure (plus he was all but deaf). But for the beer, I likely would have excused myself and retired to count the tile in the dormitory bathroom.

The next morning I had breakfast (unfortunately without the presence of the fascinating young waitress from my previous stay), and set out for Arizona.

California-Texas Trip: Part One

And so the cross country extravaganza ends with me safely back in the bosom of my kith and kin, in time to participate in the ritualistic slaughter of not one, but two awkward, flightless birds.

I began my journey on the ninth of November in San Fran where I attended a Swell Season concert with Annie, a young woman I met in Africa, her partner Zeb, and their friend Sarah. For those of you who do not know, Swell Season is a band consisting of Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, the two leads from the greatest movie of all time, Once. The concert was brilliant (to quote Hansard's favorite expression of approval). With the help of a couple of additional musicians (bass and violin) the duo performed spot on renditions of many of the songs from the movie as well as a number of other originals. Perhaps the highlight of the show was Irglová's stirring delivery of "If You Want Me," during which she exchanged her usual instrument, the piano, for Hansard's battered guitar (the same used in the movie). They proved every bit as charming in person as they do on screen. Utterly untouched by the corrupting elements of stardom, Hansard's is a genuine aura of confidence steeped in humility. Irglová displays a quiet bashfulness that adds an affecting intimacy to the entire event.

Perhaps the only incident to mar an otherwise perfect concert was the treatment afforded the opener, Martha Wainwright (sister of Rufus Wainwright) by a congregation of revelers huddled near the bar. Their chatter grew to such a level as to interfere even with Wainwright's vehement delivery. Clearly perturbed, she was forced to stop several times and ask that the conversation be kept to a minimum. While I was not particularly moved by her music, such behavior is reprehensible; an affront not only to the musician, but to the other concert goers as well. Though he said nothing of the incident, Hansard countered with his first tune, a fiery rendition of "Say It To Me Now," a song whose lyrics could not have been more appropriate if they had been written expressly in retaliation for just this offense.

I stayed the night with Annie and Zeb in their apartment near Haight Street and they treated me to breakfast the next morning. I cannot imagine a more interesting place to live. After saying our farewells, I spent the remainder of the day wandering around the Haight-Ashbury district in a light drizzle (as far as I know, this is the only form of precipitation to fall in Northern California). I ducked into the occasional bar for a beer before moving on to the next. Along the way I managed to find a Nepali/Tibetan ring I have been searching for, and for a very reasonable price. While the area has lost the glory of its sixties heyday, having become much more up market (like the rest of San Fran) it still retains an atmosphere of bohemian zaniness.

From here I proceeded to the Globetrotters Inn, one of the many hostels in San Fran. Not the greatest hostel by any means, but the only one with available space. The next day I set out for Marin Headlands, a former military post located just over the Golden Gate. I ventured to the nearby resort town of Sausalito where I had breakfast, washed some clothes and did some shopping for camping supplies. Later I returned to the Headlands to the hostel, located in a former military building. The area has been transformed into a park and has lovely views, and the hostel is warm an inviting, with an unmistakable hippie quality. The next day I headed out for Yosemite and got some wonderful shots of the Golden Gate.

I arrived in the small town of Mariposa, some thirty odd miles from Yosemite where I stopped for a rather uninspiring lunch and a much better haircut, before heading to yet another hostel, Yosemite Bug Rustic Mountain Resort, located about nine miles out of town and twenty five miles from Yosemite. After checking in, I was greeted by one of my fellow dorm-mates, Rodrigo, a young Frenchman who had been living in Chile for some time studying. He had a rather contagious exuberance about him and we talked at length about a wide range of topics, including the fact that he had been searching for an American who was not a dissenter ( i.e. did not think Bush is a moron and that the U.S. is headed down an insane path). Unfortunately, I was no help in this area, other than to suggest possibly widening his search to areas outside California.

This ranks as one of the best hostels I stayed at during my travels. It is located in the mountains and has a wonderful restaurant/bar, operated by an incredibly friendly staff and with some of the best and most wholesome food around (though this night I limited myself to a few beers). I spent the rest of the night studying up on Yosemite. I awoke early the next morning and had a hearty breakfast (the "American Breakfast") and was treated to the sunny, larger than life personality of the waitress. The food was outstanding, though she added an entirely new dimension to the experience, such that I think even a simple meal of hardtack and what passes for coffee in most American restaurants would have been transformed into an incomparable feast before her radiant smile and charismatic banter. After breakfast I lit out for Yosemite. While the drive to the park is stunning, it does little to prepare you for the majesty that is Yosemite.

After driving around a bit to get my bearings, I at last tracked down Camp #4, one of only two camps open in November, and set up my tent. Armed with a considerable amount of daylight, I set out on my first hike, Vernal Falls and Nevada Falls. According to the guidebook the whole affair was supposed to take six to eight hours, though I completed it in a little over four, so I think perhaps the literature provided in the park takes into account such things as age, health and physical ability (as I was to discover the next day, my own physical ability is somewhat more diminished than even I had suspected). At any rate the hike is beautiful, and, I think, a wonderful introduction to the park. Unfortunately, the falls were little more than trickles, but fantastic nonetheless. One of the best things about visiting the park in November is the lack of crowds. Indeed, there were few people present in the whole of the park. This, coupled with the cooler weather, make this an ideal time to explore Yosemite. I would be afraid even to think what it must be like in summer with the endless throng of tourists and the relentless heat of the sun.

Upon returning to my car I was surprised to find what I initially thought was a ticket fixed to my windshield. As it turns out Jen, one of my classmates in Monterey, was also in Yosemite and had somehow managed to find my car (not certain of the odds here, but I am sure they are quite a bit higher than tracking down a nondissenter in America). We met up later and I gave her directions to the camp where I was staying. I built a camp fire and feasted on one of the MREs (Meal-Ready-To-Eat) I had purchased for the trip from the commissary in Monterey. All I can say about MREs is that they are vaguely food-like and will do in a pinch, but that I would not go out of my way to try one, and certainly would not live on them by choice. Jen joined me later, set up her tent (in the dark, to her great credit), and we passed the night engrossed in wonderful conversation (hers, not mine).

In the morning we awoke early and Jen struck her camp as she had the leave that day. We set out for the top of Yosemite Falls at about nine, a hike described in terms ranging in degree from "very strenuous" to "highly strenuous" in the various guidebooks. The "very" did not kick in until about halfway, and at about the three-fourths mark, when we encountered a rather steep switchback trail located between to peaks, I think I might have append the description with a few adjectives of my own (none repeatable here). At last we reached the top, where we were greeted by magnificent views of the valley. Though a tad easier, the return trip was still quite intense. Toward the end our legs were shaking with exhaustion and I was near collapse (I think breakfast would have been a good idea). We treated ourselves to a sandwich at the deli in Yosemite Village and then Jen lit out for points unknown (actually for Maryland, Fort Meade to be precise), and I headed for the kitschy, overly touristic Curry Village Campsite for a shower.