A week ago I was in Rockaway Beach, Oregon. with the evening sun streaming through luminous clouds, and looking out to the far distant horizon where sea and sky meet. Seagulls might have been angels then, if only for a timeless moment. Behind me, uphill to the east, Highway 101 still carried its almost ceaseless flow of hurrying traffic, its sounds thankfully drowned out by the waves. But it was there, nonetheless. Because that was where the other world was, the world of taverns and candy shops and all night music venues. The world of getting and spending by which... "we lay waste our powers" and become ever more estranged from Nature*.
"The Kingdom of Heaven is spread out upon the Earth, and people do not see it." And since we don't see it as such, as, in fact, an expression of the Numinous, we feel that we can trample and despoil it in any way that pleases us, especially if it is profitable, but even if it is merely convenient to do so. This, I think, is the key factor: that we do not see. Because, if we saw and recognized the Numinous aspect of Nature, we could not do what we do without experiencing a sense of shame. Jerry Mander writes on this human failing and its social and environmental effects under the title, "In the Absence of the Sacred". And Jung speaks about the psychological effects of our lost connection with Nature in a newly published collection of essays and letters called, The Earth Has a Soul: C.G. Jung on Nature, Technology,and Modern Life.
Because I have been traveling by less-traveled roads, taking the dotted-line routes whenever possible, and avoiding the "Devil's Racecourse" as far as possible, I have seen some of the most splendid views of mountains and forests, sea and sky that I have ever experienced. And those experiences have been enriched by my readings in Jung, Merton, and others whose writings inspire remembrance of the need to always seek "the wide and luminous view". What a contrast then, to find oneself drawn into the mad tangle of rush hour traffic and "clogged arteries" (of both the roadway and corporeal kind). That we inflict this on one another and ourselves, and continue to endure its effects by choice seems to me proof of our collective insanity. Surely, if we recognized this twice daily activity as something forced upon us by a malevolent dictatorship, we would devise creative plans to escape from and overthrow those powers. But, as I said, we do this by choice and as though there were no viable alternatives. As even Krazy Kat says, "More's the pity!"
Tonight I am writing from a cabin at the edge of the Uncompahgre Wilderness, near the town of Ouray. Earlier today, after writing the first part of this post, I had almost decided to continue eastward on Route 50 and back to Cincinnati. But I checked that impulse, turned back, and took Route 550 to the south. Once again the natural vistas opened out in ever expanding grandeur, so that I asked myself aloud - "Do I really want to exchange all this for a hasty return to Bouton Street and Hyde Park Plaza?" No. I don't. This is where I am now. Near the Four Corners. In this amazing and beautiful array of desert and mountains, forest and streams and sky. Where ancient peoples and dinosaurs once lived. And, if I can find a way to stay here for awhile, even quite awhile, then what do Kansas and Missouri have to offer by comparison?
When I was on the Oregon coast, looking out to sea, I took a moment to consider the Oaxacan angel on my dashboard: The Navigating Angel who always points forward and silently commands, "Zugzwang!". I set him in place there with reference to a series of paintings by Thomas Cole, "The Voyage of Life". In that series, an angel is pictured with an hourglass that grows ever scantier in its allotted measure of sand. So too, my Navigating Angel holds an hourglass in place under his left hand. And the Sands of Time have run out. I know this to be both a metaphor and a simple fact. At 75 I know and acknowledge that I am living "on borrowed time". Na, und? How am I to best use what remaining time I may have? To think on this question has a sense of urgency for me. I feel like Peter Rabbit, caught by his coattails in Mr. McGregor's garden, and the sparrows there "implored him to exert himself". And so, I am "thinking it through, with all the brains I've got" while listening to the sparrows, the ravens, the coyotes, et al. This is where I am now. I am still searching for creative solutions and navigational guidance from Our Lady of Perpetual Help who, according to certain texts is cognate with Sophia and also the Luminous Epinoia (quod vide!!!).
* See Wordsworth: "The World is Too Much With Us"
P.S. It recently dawned on me that the number of automobile dealerships and gun shops far exceed the number of bookstores in America.
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