Friday, June 22, 2018

Smith Woods: The Environmental History of an Old Growth Forest Remnant in Central New York State by Warren D. Allmon






Smith Woods: The Environmental History of an Old Growth Forest Remnant in Central New York State by Warren D. Allmon, takes a fascinating look at a small patch of old growth forest in my hometown.  This book explores the geographical, historical, and ecological history of the region, and how numerous changes in the human and natural world has affected this unique woodland.

In a time when we can get a “street view” of nearly any place in the world, but do not understand what we are seeing, this is a great example how a book can give you greater insights into your local world.

Thursday, June 14, 2018

Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends, by Elie Wiesel





Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends, by Elie Wiesel, explores the bible from a very literal perspective.  His readings are informed by the biblical text and the Midrash, and are overwhelmingly concerned with gaps and questions about human and godly nature in the texts.  Why does Job accept G-d’s “answer” to the source of his sufferings; why is Joseph a zaddik when he is so crass and pragmatic?

Wiesel reads these stories very differently than I do.  For me, the literal elements of the biblical stories are the least interesting.  The mystical dimension is the goal; the details of the bible are only, but not exclusively, stepping stones to greater realities.

But it is informative to read Wiesel struggle with the texts.  It is certainly a deeply tradition Jewish concern.


Tuesday, June 12, 2018

The Place No One Knew - Glen Canyon on the Colorado






The Place No One Knew - Glen Canyon on the Colorado by Eliot Porter (Photographer), Daniel P Beard (Preface), and David Brower (Foreword) is an elegy to a natural wonder buried beneath water under the auspices of so-called human progress. 

Glen Canyon was dammed in order to create Lake Powell, which generates electricity, and is a holding tank, of sorts, for Lake Mead.  Lake Mead, and other places along the Colorado River, provide water to nearly 40 million people and agriculture.

This book provides photographs of the canyon before it was lost to the depths.  Now, nature appears to be laughing at both environmentalists attempts to bring back the canyon through human effort, and those in the Bureau of Land Management to continue to exploit it. through human effort  Since 1999, when Lake Powell was last full, the area has suffered severe drought.  The canyon is emerging once more regardless of human efforts.  At times the lack has been below 30% capacity.

There is a sense of poetry and justice to all this.  Nature eventually wins - if we receive benefit or harm from this, it is entirely accidental. 


Monday, June 11, 2018

Mystery of Everett Ruess, by W. L. Rusho (Author), W.L Rusho (Editor)




Mystery of Everett Ruess, by W. L. Rusho (Author), W.L Rusho (Editor), is the first full length book about the disappearance of Ruess, a young man who wandered the dessert south-west only to disappear at the age of twenty in the Escalante region of southern Utah.

Rusho wrote this book in the 80s, so he had the benefit of interviewing people who were still alive and had know Ruess.  So, there is an immediacy to this account that is lacking in the other two books about Ruess.  

This book is a pastiche . Part narrative, part explication, part mystery drama, Rusho fills in the narrative of Ruess' life with skill.

With only three books about Ruess out there, this is a necessary read.

Friday, June 8, 2018

Resurrection: Glen Canyon and a New Vision for the American West

Davis Gulch, a side canyon to Glen Canyon



Resurrection: Glen Canyon and a New Vision for the American West by Annette McGivney (Author) and James Kay (Photographer), is a book of photos and text when an extended drought (from 2000 to 2008) occurred in northern Arizona; parts of Glen Canyon, long covered by Lake Powell and its dam, were exposed for the first time in over 30 years.

Glen Canyon has become cautionary tale for the environmental movement in the west.  In the era of big dams following WWII, Glen Canyon received scant attention from environmental advocates.  The canyon was little visited, but contained environmental and archaeological treasures.  Once it was flooded, many realized what was lost, it became a galvanizing force to save open space in the west.

But nature is asserting herself.  It looks as if the Glen Canyon dam does not need to be destroyed to restore the canyon.  The drought continues, and has exposed more previously flooded areas, which in a few years, have restored themselves.  As of this writing, Lake Powell is below 50% capacity.  Nature will have its way.

Thursday, June 7, 2018

Here in Berlin: A Novel, by Cristina Garcia




Here in Berlin: A Novel, by Cristina Garcia, is certainly a highly competent novel, with few surprises.  

Garcia’s novel is one of conversations, with an unknown author walking about Berlin, gauging the layers of this city through the tales of its often marginalized characters.  

Garcia achieves her goal; we get a long view of the city, its inhabitants, and how they have succeeded and failed in the recent history of Berlin.  Certainly a novel worth reading - even without any fireworks.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

The Pious Ones: The World of Hasidim and Their Battles




Many recent books, particularly memoirs, have taken aim at modern Hasidism, and with great justification.  An often hostile and insular world, many Hasidic communities stifle freedom of expression, use economic and social pressures to force conformity, abuse government social services, fail to punish sex offenders in their midst, among other things.

Certainly, this is all true.  But in The Pious Ones: The World of Hasidim and Their Battles with America, by Joseph Berger, the author tries a middle road in his treatment of the many branches of Hasidism.  Unlike the recent, harsh memoirs, or the idealized portraits of Hasidism by the likes of Elie Wiesel, Berger treats Hasids as real people, warts and all.  

The biographical portraits he presents are of people who more or less "fit" into the Hasidic; for some Jews, Hasidism works.  Berger tells their stories with compassion and understanding.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Pathos & Glory: The Work of Everertt Ruess







On Desert Trails With Everett Ruess (by Gary James Bergera, Editor, Afterword, W.L Rusho, Editor), is a collection of Ruess’ letters, diary entries, poems, watercolors, and ink prints.

Ruess had a strong urge to leave civilization, and from the age of 17 until his disappearance at 20, he spent much of his time wandering southern Utah, northern Arizona, and western Colorado.  He wrote passionately about his experiences.  In 1934 he set off in Davis Gulch, in the Escalante region of southern Utah, the last area of America to be mapped, and disappeared.

His parents kept alive his memory, and this book, and its predecessors, initiated his legend and myth.  The fact that he vanished with very little evidence of his ultimate fate adds an aura of charmed mystery to his story; it punctuates his young and expressive life with pathos and glory.

Monday, June 4, 2018

To Buff or Not to Buff: The Illustrated Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era by James M. McPherson





As I grow older, I grow into a Civil War buff.  Why is that?  I read many books.  Will I don Union Blue at a Gettysburg reenactment?  Unlikely. 

However, The Illustrated Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era, by James M. McPherson, is a soup to nuts exploration of the social, political, economic and military elements of the war.  This book explores the antecedents to the conflict, the conflict, but not the aftermath.  That is part of another volume.

So here is one stop Civil War shopping, whether one is a buff or not.  Fold your Union Blues. If you have a Civil War itch, scratch it here.

Friday, June 1, 2018

There are No Accidents






The Hasidic Story Book, complied by Harry Rabinowicz, features some of the great tales of the early Hasidic masters, especially the Baal Shem Tov and his immediate followers.

This was the time when Hasidism was forming, and it was still a very democratic version of Judaism. Mastery of the Talmud or Jewish Law did not necessarily bring one closer to G-d as an open and honest heart.  Strict adherence to Jewish law could be foregone in the service of a fellow human in dire trouble.

This collection is filled with such stories.  Early Hasidism was a  reaction against Jewish formalism, but also against the rising surge of the Enlightenment.  As such, supernatural events are not a dominant feature in these stories.  Rather, G-d works through the nature and society to seek divine ends. The seeming coincidences in these tales are not the byproduct of an accidental universe.  Rather, it is G-d working behind the scenes.

A great book to read on Shabbat. This is old school Judaism at its best

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Life and Death in the Jet Stream



Jon Krakauer writes well, and Into Thin Air is probably his finest book.  Tapped to climb Mount Everest in 1996 to write a story about the then new trend in guided ascents up the mountain, Krakauer witnesses the deaths of several climbers and guides in a blizzard, and nearly dies himself.

Even seasoned climbers die on Mount Everest.  Its summit is in the jet stream.  The human body was not designed to climb to 29,029 above sea level.  Even with oxygen and trained guides, accidents and bad weather kill climbers. 

They may be no other reason to read this book than the sheer entertainment of it; and this despite the fact that people die, and Krakauer depicts those deaths in detail.

Friday, May 25, 2018

War Made New: Technology, Warfare, and the Course of History: 1500 to Today by Max Boot



War Made New: Technology, Warfare, and the Course of History: 1500 to Today, by Max Boot, is a survey of how technology has transformed warfare over the course of over five hundred years.  This time period involves the rise of the West as technological and military masters of the world.

As in all of Boot’s books, he uses entertaining and illustrative examples to advance the theme of the work.  Boot shows how war has shifted in orientation, often in dramatic ways, with the use of superior technology.  He also provides examples when this simple formula often does not work. But these are specific instances that buck the trend.  Ultimately, the smart bomb defeats the IED.  The missile toting drone the suicide bomber.  The are problems along the way, and inferior powers can often tackle superior ones.  Boot handles this as well.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Finding Everett Ruess: The Life and Unsolved Disappearance of a Legendary Wilderness Explorer by David Roberts

Everett on the trail



Finding Everett Ruess: The Life and Unsolved Disappearance of a Legendary Wilderness Explorer by David Roberts is a biography of an unusual young man who he refused to live by the conventions of society in the early 1930s.  At the age 16, Everett began to wander alone parts of California.  He kept diaries, wrote letters to his family and friends, painted watercolors and created woodblocks.   By the age of 17 he became enraptured by northern Arizona, and southern Utah.  Every season he would set out for this region, purchase two burros to carry his gear for extended forays in the desert wilds.

In 1934, just before his 21 birthday, he set out from the town of Escalante, Utah, heading south.  The land to the south of this town is rugged and unforgiving, and in the 1930s, it was even more isolated than today.  There were few true roads, and far less people or tourists than there are today.  This was one of the most isolated places in America.  Everett was seen by shepherds a week later, and then disappeared.  In the years to follow, he became a legend.

one of Everett's woodcuts

Most books about Ruess, even collections of his poems and letters, are cherry picked to find the most inspirational passages - sort of Thoreau meets Whitman.  Roberts shows Ruess’ darker side.  He could be misanthropic, racist, and impatient.  His dark moods were as predominant as his bright.  He contemplated suicide. He was not always content with his wandering life.  He was sometimes lonely.
  
He was a complicated young man, still growing and evolving as a person and artist.  He sought to translate the vast and beautiful landscapes to Utah and Arizona into words and pictures; a difficult task he often did successfully.  Everett Ruess is an appealing character.  So much of Everett is known, but more is a mystery. We never feel we get a handle on his complicated young man.  And then he disappeared into the same desert he loved, leaving scant evidence of his fate.  Roberts examines the theories that have evolved over the years.

I am not surprised the Ruess most likely died somewhere in the Escalante region of Utah.  I was there recently, and it appears to be an excellent place for a fatal accident, or  deadly misjudgment.  Despite Everett's experience with solo travel, solo travel in the desert is a risky venture.  In such an unforgiving land, a lone person is often a step or a fall away from death.  The land conspires against a person's efforts to manage their destiny.  For me, I’m glad we have not found any further evidence of Ruess’ fate; we need idealists like him.  We need heroes and mystery and legends.

Davis Gulch, a slot canyon; Everett's last camp was found here

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer





Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by Jon Krakauer, has been uniformly condemned by the official world of LDS, and I can see why.  Krakauer explores the fundamentalist element of the Mormon religion; these groups are shunned by modern LDS.  But simply because that is the case, does not mean fundamentalist Mormon's are not tied to the history of their religion.

Like all religions, LDS has (or has had ) problematic doctrines.  Groups have taken them to the point where long departed and condemned practices (polygamy, blood atonement) return as the most salient doctrines of their group.  Even through they are condemned by modern LDS, they still have their roots in the often violent past of Mormonism.  Besides telling a story of a senseless, religiously inspired murder, this is Krakauer's main point.

To take another example: West Bank settler Judaism, which makes the land of Israel an idol and subverts nearly all other Jewish values for real estate, is as much a part of the Jewish tradition as the universal elements of Reform Judaism.  I like one, and find the other abhorrent.  But the prophetical books exist alongside the book of Joshua; to ignore this is simply tunnel vision.  We have to acknowledge our problem children, even as we condemn them.


Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Inner Worlds of Jewish Prayer: A Guide to Develop and Deepen the Prayer Experience by DovBer Pinson,




Inner Worlds of Jewish Prayer: A Guide to Develop and Deepen the Prayer Experience by DovBer Pinson, is his finest work.  Rabbi Pinson’s books have been, for the most part, small works on some aspect of Jewish practice, always filtered through the lens of non-duality.  In this work, Rabbi Pinson uses that lens to plumb the depths of the siddur, the prayer book.  Pinson moves on many levels.  The deepest and richest is the kabbalistic meanings of the passages of the prayer.  He explains the  mystery of the words of prayer; they are mighty in a literal sense, but render the cosmos whole in mystical sense.  But always, they are about the individua'ls quest for devekus, or throwing off the burden of the perceived self to merge with G-d, the Greater Whole.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

South and West: From a Notebook - Joan Didion




South and West: From a Notebook, is one of Joan Didion’s travel notebooks from the late sixties, the same time she wrote some of her strongest works.  Unfortunately, this is a thin and weak book.  Her observations are so attenuated that it all we read is Didion’s mean side (and even her best writing is mean spirited) with nothing to mitigate it. This unfortunate book not worth reading.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness by Edward Abbey




Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness by Edward Abbey has a much deserved reputation of being one of the finest book written about the American West.  Abbey spent time as a park ranger in Arches National Park in the late 60s, and in the process, traveled all around southern Utah and northern Arizona.  This book is the outcome of that stay, yet it is so much more.  

Abbey uses this book as a platform not only to make observations about the geography, fauna and flora of Utah, but as a place to vent his spleen at the destruction of the natural world, and the dehumanizing nature of our society.  The book is also filled with humor, pathos, and great sensitivity.  His prose is elastic, conversational at some points, poetic and profound at others.

Desert Solitaire is a master piece of non-fiction.  Abbey moves from topic to topic with ease.  Each piece stands alone, but they are interconnected.  In a relatively short amount of space, he writes strongly and convincingly about a host of topics.  For this skill, we can forgive him his obvious misanthropy.  He hates everyone. 

Friday, May 11, 2018

Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman





Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman has an interesting premise.  It is 1905, and Einstein is working on his paradigm shifting work on the nature of time.  Einstein and his friend in the patent office talk about his work in part of the narrative.  The other part, the bulk of this novel, shows how time “acts” in different scenarios.  

I have two problems with this book.  I had always through that although time is relative, to the person in a particular spot, time appears to move along at the “right” speed.  Time is only faster or slower compared to the location, speed, and gravitational position of some other person in some other space. Yet the characters in this novel experience time shifts in their own worlds.  If my ideas of time’s relativity are correct (and maybe they are not) then the premise makes little sense.

Second, the time scenarios are not consistent. They are too many of them, and they are, by and large, a bit fantastical and repetitive. Overall this novel has a great premise, but the delivery is lacking.

Thursday, May 10, 2018

A Little History of Religion by Richard Holloway






A Little History of Religion by Richard Holloway, is part of the “Little History” series, which I was not well aware of; the author does a fine job of zeroing in and out of nearly all world religions.  

Inevitably, in the act of summation, he misses elements.  His chapter on Judaism fails to treat it as a living religion.  He must, in order to keep the narrative moving forward, portray it as the mother religion of Christianity and Islam.

Things like this worry me; if there is a glaring flaw in a topic I know well, what of other traditions, like Bahia, for which I know close to nothing?  

Yet I can’t fault the book for its clarity and scope.  For people who know only a smattering about religion, this is a great jumping off point to further study.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Last Night in Montreal by Emily St. John Mandel





Emily St. John Mandel writes well about loss and dislocation.  She displays this masterfully in her post-apocalyptic novel Station Eleven, but she also exploits this theme with great satisfaction in Last Night in Montreal. She takes the disappearance of a young girl – a common enough theme in recent literature – and elevates it into a meditation on the sense of loss which pervades our life

We are all existentially anxious that somewhere, somehow, we are missing out on something.  This novel takes that feeling and gives it concrete expression.  In the process, she lays out our deepest desire for a home we never seen to find.

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

The Great Vision & The American West: Conclusion

distant dust storms, Mojave Desert

“Man is an interloper in this country, not merely because he maintains a toehold only on sufferance… but because everything he sees is a prophecy of his in consequent destiny” Wallace Stegner, from Mormon Country.

There is not much that we can do, either to alter our fate or make our way through the world with greater clarity than we already
view of the Colorado before Lake Mead
possess.  We are all born with certain innate abilities, and we do or do not develop them according to our social or ethnic circumstances, the wealth (of lack of) of our parents. We may be lazy or driven.  We may strive or give up.  At various times in life, we think we are at our prime.  This must be our Golden Age.  At others, we feel used up by reality; we are ignored by our loved ones, cast out into obscurity; we die overripe on the vine.

This is the human condition, and it is the compact in which we are bound (although we never actually signed up for it; we are here, as far as we can tell, by sheer accident).  Yet within this rather dire set of conditions and circumstances, we do have some wiggle room.  Prognostications of doom only scare you if you care about the end
a statue to the god hubris, at the Hoover Dam
of this or that person, place or thing, or world.  Being creatures of limited imagination and intellect, we must shut those fonts off to be somewhat free.  We must sit in a room and listen to white noise in our earbuds. We must clear the mind of extraneous thoughts, and from there, perhaps inch our perceptions just a bit forward.  Gain, if for a few seconds, a wider sense of the world.

I can see now that our horizons of perception can be expanded by tramping out to the desert southwest. I know of some who have done this successfully.  They forged a mystical union with the landscape, stayed for days, weeks, months, years.  The land was transformed into a tool for mystical adventure.  On this trip, I felt tugs in that direction.  The desert creates a wider vista, both physical and mental, which brings about sudden leaps in insight.  You are enlivened viewing the downward cascade of the landscape from the Bryce Canyon’s uplands.  This insight hit you in spurts – they fill you so much with feeling and sensation, that it takes some time to unpack all that has happened. A sense of wonder both fills and empties.

At the same time the land expands you, it also reminds you of your
palms at the Hoover Dam
fundamental weakness.  Here is a place that is, not in all but in key ways, death itself.  Many people, including its seekers, have found such a fate.  Perhaps that is how it should be; in order to gain so much from a landscape, from a place, from a sense of space, life should be the bail we must post, the down payment we leave. 


The quest for greater insight, to expand the parameters of what we see and how we see it, is a zero sum game.  We must throw our full weight behind the quest.  If we do not, our reality becomes a patchwork of jerky, inconsistent and unsatisfying encounters.  We need a bit of the fanatic to bring forth the greater vision.  Otherwise, we get a lesser version.  

But in the end, if this all we can muster, then we must nibble the scraps of the great vision.  Sometimes, being kind to oneself and others is more important than clarity.  After all, we are singularly weak creatures.

Friday, May 4, 2018

The Grand Canyon’s Doppelganger : Day Seven

Lone Tree - South Rim



There are two Grand Canyons.  There is the view of the canyon itself, which is incomparable.  We must just say that is it a planetary phenomenon, one of the earth’s greatest hits.  Like so many views and vistas in the west, it contains the seeds of both belief and disbelief.  It is hard to ignore, standing on the rim trail and looking down some 2000 feet or more that this rugged landscape is all too real.  But hovering in, around, and through this
South Rim with a sprinkle of people
view, there is the idea of the canyon. Unlike the reality of a table and the idea of a table, which are nearly identical, the idea of the canyon provides no cognitive prop to guide us in what we are seeing.  Viewing the Grand Canyon, hiking its rim trail, tramping through its pine forests, reminds us that some things are eternal, even if we nothing lasts forever.  Even when we know the canyon was formed in time, and will end in time.

The other Grand Canyon is ugly in form and shape.  The idea of this other canyon, and the canyon itself, is all too easy to conjure.  I was waiting for this “other” event since arriving.  The Grand Canyon
not my photo
appeared as a good candidate.  We arrived the night before our main day in the park, and were lulled into complacency.  It was near dinner time, and at the far eastern end of the south rim, at Desert View Watchtower, there were few people.  The initial exposure to the Canyon both lulled and exhilarated us; we did not realize, as evening approached, that the next day we would meet the two Grand Canyons.  One would enliven our  souls.  The other, would rip them out of our flesh and trampled them to near death.

I should start with the Grand Canyon, and not its dark side.  As far to the west as possible in Grand Canyon National Park is Hermit’s Rest, a building designed by Mary Colter and built in 1916. The structure clings to the rock wall, and its stone work as the same hue and glint as the surroundings. Its integration is purposeful and complete, it even gives the impression of imminent collapse.  Unlike the sprawling
Hermit's Rest
visitor’s center and host of lodges at Grand Canyon Village, this stone structure belongs in nature.  Hermit’s Rest would “work” as a ruin or a fully functional visitor's stop.  My daughter buys a book written by a park ranger called “Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon.”  The subtitle refines this point: “Gripping accounts of all known fatal mishaps in the most famous of the World's Seven Natural Wonders.”  The cover art features images of natural beauty and human horror.  The canyon itself, golden, glowing, a rainbow arching into or out of its depths; two planes colliding in the air, just at the moment of impact; and in the foreground, a skull wrapped in sepulchral shrouds. 

From Hermit’s Rest, the rim trail moves east, quite literally along the rim of the canyon.  It is hiker friendly, but at certain points, one must be particularly aware of footing. The rim trail’s setting is
closely correlated to its name, and is often just a foot or two (or less) from cataclysmic drops. This sets up an odd dichotomy:  to our left, this great expanse of space.  By most measures, the most voluminous we have encountered.  For this space moves out, and up, and down; at the same time, we are obsessively aware of the minuscule space where our feet fall, or may not fall, to that dismal place of skulls and shrouds.

But we are safe, and with each twist and turn of the trail, our perception is forced to struggle for anchorage.  There is no perch for us.  We are required to walk the earth with the most intense focus. We can take nothing for granted.  This produces a hyper-awareness of the self, which at the same time leads to the loss of the self.  We daily walk through a world of the familiar and
routine.  But on the lip of the Grand Canyon, this cannot be done. We are awoken to new possibilities.  The threat of our immediate death is only one.  The other is the awareness of the connections between all things. Without our standard reality props, we see how we are connected to the ground, the air, the distant vista, the sky.  The casual aspect of reality falls away.  We become sharply aware of the Great Vision: the everything is One.

Now for the shadow.  Grand Canyon National Park is overrun by humans.  The infrastructure of the park is woefully inadequate to
Lot 2, from NPS
handle people in any great numbers.  There is nowhere to park.  Lots are full, and there are too few of them.  The bus shuttle system is inadequate.  Even if cars were banned from the park, and shuttles ran from points outside the park, with the current level of buses and number of visitors (6.25 million in 2017!) the system is bound to be so clogged that it will fail to work.

We walk by a crowded bus shelter.  An East Indian man is yelling at a bus attendant.  He is screaming; she is talking in low tones.  A few feet away stands a stoic security guard.  His hair is buzzed, he dons dark sunglasses, and he wears a black Kevlar vest, black 
It would grow worse
pants. From his stance, he has a military background.  His hand is on his waist, adjacent to his gun. Matters have reached this phase. The man is enraged because his party was not allow on the last bus.  Really?  Catch the next one.

Only later, as we wait for a bus after our rim hike, do I understand the man’s rage (although I do not feel it).  Under the bus shelter, a line snakes around barriers, like cattle in pen.  Buses arrive, but infrequently.  When they do, 85% of them are filled to capacity, and can only a sprinkle of passangers.

Here is the Canyon’s evil shadow, and of course it is cast by us – people – humanity as a hoard.  6.5 million of us want to gaze at the
Grand Canyon each year.  A noble impulse, true, but rife with ironies. If these people want nature, then go to Central Park. The Ramble is less crowded most days than they bus stop at Pima Point.  At least at The Ramble, you have the power to remove yourself from nature conveniently, and with dignity, rather than wait with irritated, hungry and tired Canyon Viewers.

The Canyon’s shadow side is the uncontested low point of the trip.  After the grand hike on the rim trail, the bottom of the bucket falls out, and our fears come to fruition. The lesson is clear: unless you exercise experimental sleight of hand, and separate your natural experience of Grand Canyon from the Shadow Experience of the Canyon overlooks, buses, parking lots, and angry people – there is little point to going at all.

This is the coda: we arrive at our “parking lot” after dark.  There only illumination is spectral and fleeting car headlights.  We walk down roads teeming with people, looking fort their cars as we look for ours.  Thankfully, my son marked the GPS location of our rental on his phone.  But he only has 5% power, so there is some urgency.  I supplement the search by pressing the car's panic button, to gauge how close we are.  Yes, it all came down to that.

The Park Department will not change a thing.  Attendance is up every year.  The towns around the park cater to tourists.  Everything is expensive.  You pay dear to few the Great Vision.  Sure, those dollars pay for fillings, college tuition, rent, and new mufflers.  People must make a living.  So there is unrelenting pressure is to keep the park open and full no matter how untenable visiting it actually is.  That will not change unless the amount of visitors precipitously drops. But by that time, it will be too late.  Is there a tipping point of visitors per year that will force even the most hardened hive people to stay away from the Grand Canyon?




Monday, April 30, 2018

Opposites in One Hand: Antelope Canyon, Day Six


Newspaper Rock, detail

There are others, of course, and they have had their own singular experience of this land.  They knew it well, far more than I ever will.  They drank its water, hunted its game, and ate its plants.  As we head south, we take a detour west off US Highway 191, to Utah Route 211.  This is a long and relatively flat road, with no stunning scenery. We enter the Needles District of Canyonlands.

The Abajo, or Blue Mountains are to the south, and they wear caps
Abajo Mountains
of snow that cascade downslope of ridges. For most of the trip, they will remain oddly  to the west and immobile, all of their peaks over 9000 feet.  Route 211 rises in elevation as we move south and west, yet a creek appears and a valley, shaded by deciduous trees (which are now bare).  Just before our destination, we slow down.  A hump of rock leans over the road – hitting it appears certain.  But we clear it, and turn to the right and our destination: Newspaper Rock, 500 feet ahead. 

In the west, Indian remains can last for centuries.  In a sparsely populated, dry and warm climate, the material culture of a people survive long after they have been killed or displaced.  Newspaper Rock is a case in point: a protruding, roundish stone at the bottom of a Cliffside, 200 square feet of exposed rock which displays nearly 2000 years of human artistic activity.  These are petroglyphs, which are picked, incised or otherwise carved into a rock face.  This rock has a black, volcanic varnish, and the some 650 figures leap off a glossy black background in shades of white and tan.  Most are clearly animals: deer, buffalo, antelope, and horses (often with riders).  Yet there is a host of abstract figures and symbols, including the “god” type figures from Capitol Reef, the strange boxy beings with headdresses and tails...the most ancient of all the carvings.


The sign informs us of how many cultures have decorated the rock: Archaic Desert, Anasazi, Fremont, Navajo, and Pueblo.  The figure are layered, ghosts of previous etchings can often be spied.  Despite their great age, the rock figures are vibrant and bold; it seems they were made in
Newspaper Rock, detail
the last few years. But they represent a vast span of time.  There is so much disorder to the rock face (disorder is not an accurate word… no one ever tried to order it, or even knew the concept of order as we know it) that we are naturally inclined to find a story here.  Even the Navajo, one of the last people to engrave the rock, felt it must have some latent narrative.  They called it “Tse’Hone” the rock that tells a story.

But there is only a story in Newspaper Rock by practicing extreme visual editing.  You have to focus in on two or three figures to form a little story.  And even then, the figures, are still a Rorschach test.  They saw more about the viewer than anything else. Nothing is fixed. The figures might as well be swimming in a liquid medium.


Across the Arizona line, the landscape opens, as if we had traveled down a series of ragged steps to the world’s cellar.  We find ourselves in a vast expanse of tan and yellow.  Here is the desert as we imagine it.  Sand, ground hugging plants stretching to the horizon – like the dream of a desert that only appears to be real.


the vanishing point, Monument Valley
Most of the family is asleep or drowsy.  The landscape commends sleep.  We move forward , but there is little sense of momentum.  I gaze at the speedometer: 105 mph, yet the rate seems completely natural.  Nothing of note passes us; there is no way to accurately judge speed or progress.  The land simply shallows your speed in a giant maw.

I want to get out and stand in the center of the road and get one of those distinctive photos where the road ends at a vanishing point.  But it is not wise.  Cars come on quickly and silent.  When they do, you are suddenly aware of a human scale in a frightening manner.  At Monument Valley, people do just that, and when you catch them in your forward gaze, you realize the preposterous position they are in; little people about to get eaten by a road.

We stop at the gas station on the Navajo Reservation.  A young white man, his skin speckled and red from drug use, tells me a story of being stranded without gas money.  Does he believe that I will believe him?  Inside, near a case of soda he can't drunk, a man is telling another of how he was arguing with yet another man about the status of Joseph Smith's murder.  "I said, he was killed, so that makes him a martyr, beyond double!"

Outside, I give my friend all the change my family has collected.  He appears surprised – because it is not more?  Because I gave him anything at all?  I tell him to be careful, to be healthy and safe.  Don’t harm yourself, I say, and his face clouds with confusion.  Is he surprised I would give him drug money?  Is he shocked by kind words?

We drive through the staggering vastness of the Navajo Reservation.  Their reservation is larger than West Virginia.  But beyond Utah and Monument Valley, the land is monotonous, and even dreary.  I know it contains secret wilderness realms, true hidden gems, back country that is little explored.  But we only see road.  So we are left wondering what is next.

Our motel in Page Arizona looks out over an alley with a mason block wall with symmetrical windows at the top, like a face without features.  But I am far from annoyed.  It is
75 degrees and sunny, and in the 20s and snowing back home.  I prop open the door and sit on the desk chair half in and out of the room.  My son starts reading the Gideon Bible, ridiculing the King James prose.  I have him read Psalm 23.  I tell him that even people who never read the Bible are familiar with it; he reads, and I explain the words.  This goes on for longer than I expect.  Perhaps he is surprised that these words actually mean something at all.



Antelope Canyon



 

“Is that place sacred to your people?” that is my first question to our Navajo guide.  He is a young man, round, friendly, calm.  I am surprised to hear no.  But then again, why would the Navajo escort
thousands of tourists through their most sacred space?  Antelope Slot Canyon, although natural, is not entirely so; it was discovered by a Navajo woman grazing sheep in the 1920s, and has been open for tourists through the years.  The slot canyon was formed by flowing water, often at torrential rates, so periodically the canyon floods and sand is deposited.  The company the runs the tours and owns the canyon must regrade after each heavy rain.  Otherwise, the few metal stairs and ladders would not be be at the "proper" level.  Eventually, the canyon would clog with sand and once again be hidden from view.  It would wait for yet another flood, and a curious Navajo. 

So, the canyon is, to an extent, not "natural," but how can any sane person claim it to be otherwise?  The canyon like nothing on earth, and it is nestled in the earth.   With each step, with every shift
of light or perspective, the wall take on a new face.  This in itself is odd, as the rock walls are always a variation of the theme of smooth stone flowing like solidified water.  And light and shadow provides it motion and depth. As we move, we climb.  Sometimes gradually, often steeply.  Other groups are behind and some ahead.  So the guide gently nudges us forward.  Thousand of people will enter the canyon today.  We need to vacate.

When it is over, I am surprised at how prosaic yet grand the end is.  We emerge from a crack in the earth... like a second birth, or a glimpse into the mystery of death.  We are claimed by a subterranean realm that is not quite real (and should not exist) but that is undeniably real, and beautiful.  We get tossed back up into the quotidian without ceremony. 

This is a beauty both simple and complex.  The canyon is a place where opposites can be held in one hand.


Re-born?  Or Rising from the Dead?


Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Aches and an Existential Crisis: Day Five

Courthouse Tower



Few people realize how lazy I am.  Nor do they suspect the effort involved in maintaining this state.  The world either conspires to keep me as busy as possible, or it is simply its default setting.  

We are creatures living in a world which places soul grinding demands upon us.  We realize, far too late, that most of the sacrifices we leverage against our precious time was not worth the effort.  People who develop a chronic illness know this all too well. If one is sick, suddenly the mistakes and misconceptions of one's healthy years appear as a sin.  

Many people may be upset with this statement. But the metaphysical underpinning that few, or no efforts are worth the price we pay, is no one’s particular fault.  It rests with God, or the Divine, or the Stars, or the Great Accident of the Unfolding of the Universe.  


Pine Tree Arch
That hardly makes me a depressive. I think that God is testing us.  He/She/Its purpose (and I don’t like assigning God a purpose, but we will do it here as a though exercise) is to force us to either say yes or no to the heavy demands this world imposes on us.  Most of us say yes, and God, I believe, feels sad for us.  "He said yes again," God says, and shakes his/her/its allegorical head.  "Why does he always do that?"  God asks no one in particular.  "It is literally killing him."

As I am standing on a rock at the entrance to Arches National Park, gazing at the snow-capped peaks of the La Sal Mountains near the Colorado border, this sensation practically bowls me over.  The mountains are only an hour and a half away, but they seem more distant – perhaps  on another planet.  Again, the dome has been lifted off the world, and the Space that is the setting of our
The distant La Sal Mountains
planet, the very stage we stand upon, opens like an abyss.  I feel this, but it is gone far too quickly.  How long did I need to stand at the overlook, overlooking those mountains? Overlooking our lives. When would the sensation have drained in the gutter of flesh and blood?  Would I be there still if not for more “pressing” matters?

Then I realize something more subtle about my predicament.   If I die at 85, than I live for another 37 years.  How many of those years will be healthy, if we define this as “ as a man in overall control of his mind and his body?”  Would I then have 27 years?  30 years?  Less?  Our predicament is that we know nothing of all about the most important issue that faces us – how long will we live, and what shape we our elder years will form. 

Seeing the La Salle Mountains from the rocky overlook, I get a glimpse of what is, for me, a cloud burst from eternity.  In this place, the land reflects back monumental distances, colossal formations of rock, jagged and deep canyons of staggering proportions.  This is a world evolving through space and time, just as we are; we share a similar fate.  The stones and sand of Arches outlive us all – as people, as a species – yet none of this matters on the existential level.  In the gut, the land lives forever.  We die soon.

We drive on, and the sense of space becomes, richer, more defined.  Hanging Rock is up ahead: a boulder (an insufficient word) balanced on top of the pillar of stone.  It is not hanging, but perched.  It looks like it may fall at any moment, and maybe it will.  Beyond it, a plain of rolling sand unfolds to the horizon.  There is the impression, which is hard to ignore or transfer into some other image, that the massive stones were placed by an intelligent being without a sense of symmetry. 

Landscape Arch
These formations are impressive, but people come to Arches not for this type of monumental stone, but for the Arches.  Formed by“fins” of rock, the arches formed when that sea dropped, the land rose, and then collapsed back.  There are over 2000 arches in the park, and none of them will remain forever.  Some of the weaker ones, with cracks on the upper arch and thin areas on the sides, could fall in the next major storm, or last thousands of years.  But fall they will.

We see most of the major arches.  Some we miss.  We approach Devil’s Garden, peek around the corner, and decide the terrain is too sandy for our energy level.  We loop back.  Double Arch is popular.  The parking circle is completely full, so people park anywhere along the road.  The arch is so large, that beneath it feels like a spacious cavern.  People bite more than they can chew.  I help a man down a slope, and then pull his smallest child next.  A little girl asks for help on yet another slope.  “To go up or down?” I ask her.  “Down.”  So I hold out my hands and she grasps them, and I swing her to level ground.  There are too many people.

In yet another part of the park is a group of petroglyphs.  These are from sometime between 1530 to 1830, as the figures ride horses.  


Native Rock Drawings


On the overlook trail to  Delicate Arch the land is sufficed with granular copper. The salty green sand gives the appearance of the under-story of a forest in first bloom.  This perplexes the senses.  I feel overwhelmed.

But I am rescued,  We must leave.  We have yet another destination.  Once more, I am struck with how powerfully inert my life is; here, all this time, while I was doing my little tasks, this landscape existed.  We are both mutable, this landscape and I, but I am tenuously so; yet I realize, when leaving, that I must shake this awful feeling.  This election of myself as special, as worthy of an elegy to finite life, is not something worthy to lament.  We all share this fate.  I am not special.  I do not want election.  


People approaching Double Arch
Double Arch