“When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one,
the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.”
— John Muir
I opened my eyes from inside a dull, green womb of nylon, with pictures of gray mountain forest in its screen windows. Immediately, I performed my transition from sleeping to waking, because the hard ground was never comfortable enough to lie there and daydream. Besides, all the best stuff was outside the tent! Deftly, I wriggled into my pants, pulled on some socks, and placed my boots outside, where I stepped into them and laced up, with eagerness for a new day. I was determined to enjoy all the time I had alone, before other hikers might arrive to spoil the spiritual solitude. “The last thing this place needs is more humans,” I complained out loud acerbically, and only the hemlocks and chipmunks could hear me. Nobody answered, and my heart surged with the last dream I had before I woke up: an ardent plea that we would somehow learn how to live in harmony with our environment, the way most ancient cultures had done.
Admittedly, I hadn’t been very proud of my species lately. Sure, there were always a lot of good souls to be found, but they had apathetically allowed the deranged people to take control of our collective destiny. The signs of climate change were everywhere, and our so-called leaders were ignoring them, doing just the opposite of what was needed to save humanity. Any positive change was ridiculously incremental and inadequate, as we rushed headlong to the point of no return; as if we couldn’t wait to get there. I was really beginning to think that our peculiar breed of hominid was a failed experiment of evolution. We were given way too much subjective autonomy, thinking we were masters of the planet instead of shepherds or caretakers. Reasonable voices throughout history had been trampled and obliterated by human callousness and greed, and it seemed as if the habit of waiting until the very last minute to change would finally betray us. The earth would rid itself of the pestilence of humanity, along with millions of other species, in a great epoch change known as Anthropocene. That’s because we “Anthros” are the agents of change. In our zeal to exploit the world’s resources for our own benefit, we have halted evolution in its tracks. Wild animals that took millions of years to evolve are now lost forever, or relegated to zoos as we ravage their habitats, effectively pruning entire branches of natural selection. Thousands of species we haven’t even named yet have been deleted from the planet’s database, and there is no “undo” button. We have screwed things up enormously, and instead of rapidly addressing the problem, we laugh and try to make more money so we can enjoy our luxuries. Even the “responsible” governments of the world are responding to the crisis only by fining the worst polluters to make more money, without any plan for using that revenue to remediate the negative effects. At this point, only a drastic shift from a greed- and profit-based society to an agrarian, natural economy of husbandry would turn things around, and that isn’t about to happen. Leaders aren’t going to preemptively enact the drastic policies needed, because that would be tantamount to political suicide, and biting the corporate hands that feed them with campaign contributions. The impetus for change has to come from the people, and they aren’t likely to complain until they are already suffering the deprivations of severe climate change, by which time it will be too late.
We are truly fucked.
Nonetheless, the universe will continue to evolve towards its highest consciousness, even if we humans are fittingly tossed out the window like litter on the highway. We had our chance, and we blew it. Somewhere else, in another galaxy, there is hopefully a life form advancing more in alignment with the agenda of the universe: to bring all of creation back to full awareness of The Creator. Anything that contributes and moves this agenda forward is good, while anything that produces dissonance and discord is bad. Humanity has proven to be uniquely discordant and dysfunctional. Like a spoiled head of lettuce from the back of the refrigerator, we will be hastily shoved down the garbage disposal. It’s sad to consider we will lose the many beautiful expressions of human beings throughout history, such as art, music, literature, and kindness, which were always a minority – but appropriately cherished as the greatest achievements of our species. Too bad those higher expressions did not become the dominant paradigm. For those are the senses by which the universe experiences itself through creation, and like any artist, if the project isn’t going the in the direction of the original vision, it gets painted over, abandoned for another project, or pursued in a different direction.
Sitting there on top of White Bear Rock, trying to absorb the early morning rays of sun on another clear, autumn day, I saw examples of the disparity between what nature has given to us, and what we give back. All around me were 360-degree views of awesomeness: a perfect ecosystem in balance with the creative force of the universe. The wilderness doesn’t need us to “save” it; we just need to leave it alone to do what it has been doing for billions of years. At the top where I sat, barely eight feet tall, a brave little Ponderosa still clung to life in an impossibly exposed spot. All around it, behind the rock, the elder trees were battered and scarred from storms, yet this little one survived. And how did we humans, the masters of all creation, commemorate the tenacity of this little tree? Some idiots had carved their initials deep into its bark, and the sap stained its slender trunk like dried blood. Mankind has always tried to alter the environment, if only to say “we were here,” but mostly to try and bend it to its will. In the coldness of space 100,000 years from now – a mere speck in time for the universe – there will probably be nothing left on this planet to show we were ever here. Earth will be evolving through a different cycle, after the rapid, destructive climate changes of the Anthropocene, and there will be nobody around to name the new epoch. The gross extinction of species (including those we haven’t even discovered yet) will be just one aspect of a corrective planetary action to restore equilibrium. Homo sapiens, and the world we ruled, will simply be a bad dream from which life will awaken, and move on.
There was a persistent yet chilly breeze, which made my philosophy too cold for comfort. I grabbed some snacks, and relocated to the west shore of Little Bear, where a pleasant surprise awaited. I found a perfect bench seat out of the wind, nest to the sparkling emerald cove, and heated by not just one but two suns! The reflection off the water beamed up at me while its twin was nearing its low apex in the sky: the height which passed for “high noon” at that late date. Aside from the chill, autumn in the Trinity Alps is ideal – no crowds or mosquitoes, clear skies free of smoke, and fewer insects that want to drink your blood. The seasons were folding their tents and would soon retire into winter, and the same could be said for my body. I used to come up here as a young man, eager for adventure and exploration. In my middle years, I used it as an escape from my problems, and a way to heal from the damage they caused. Now I get a sense of it all winding down – my life, our species, and even the earth in general, as the Age of Aquarius comes to a close. I felt as if my soul had learned what it needed to learn, and nothing was left but the long, slow slide into sunset. The realization was not a surrender, but a sense of accomplishment, as if I had done my duty and could now relax. The final act was inevitable. Winter was coming.
Meanwhile, my cozy bench baked by twin suns was proving to be warmer than I liked. Besides, the “perfect spot” was marred by close proximity to a colony of large, quick-moving ants on spindly legs. They seemed to have developed a notion that the smelly lump of human flesh delivered to their doorstep represented their last chance to lay in a supply of protein for the winter. I left them a dried cherry in consolation, and relocated to a friendlier neighborhood. I spent the rest of the afternoon seeking different vista points, taking pictures, and enjoying the sunny side of the lake. The southern half that included Bumblebee Springs never got any sun this time of year. I wondered if any part of the lake ever saw the sun around the winter solstice. I sauntered slowly down to Wee Bear, and checked out Mama Bear Springs, which was just a flaccid teat after the short but hot summer. From the Altar, I could see the stain of a trickle as it slowly spilled over the little tarn, gurgled ponderously in the outlet creek through the wooded cleft, and ventured out into the world. By late afternoon, the sun was fairly warm back at camp, with the thermometer reading a reluctant 64 in the sun. In the shade it was probably 10 degrees cooler, and a cold wind began to gust on occasion, as the high pressure system moved away to the east and sucked in that weak front that was supposed to arrive tomorrow. I hadn’t seen another human being all day, and doubted if any would show up later. I hadn’t decided yet if I’d hike out tomorrow, or stay the full 5 days, but the combination of avoiding bad weather and gaining an extra day of rest at home before returning to work was a tempting possibility.
Work. Ugh. My chosen method of trading my life for money had become especially brutal lately; ever-increasing in wanton urgency and technical complexity. I lamented that as I traveled the “information highway” of technology, there was more traffic than ever before! Instead of making us more efficient, the details were overwhelming our senses. The clients and people I worked with were over-informed, too, and it was contagious. They infected my nervous system with their dizzy sense of spinning out of control, and being unable to stop. It seemed as though everyone was exchanging information so fast, that it had no meaning anymore. If anything, it was having a debilitating effect on our existence, due to the attention it demanded. Where will it all stop? Will I ever get to a point where I can say I have things under control, financially? I grumbled that as soon as I did that, the economy would crash and it’d all be for naught, anyway. I might as well live up at Little Bear Lake year round, like a chipmunk, snug in my little hole. Up in the Alps, there is only the in-form-ation you need: mountains, sky, trees, and water. At sunset, I rambled up to the rocky bluff above my camp, and ended up shuffling over to Lothlorien to check out a few favorite spots. Once again I was impressed by the evidence of violent weather leaving its hashtags throughout the forest. On second thought, maybe winters up here would be a bit too harsh…
After the sun had disappeared, I arranged a sitting place for myself near the exposed clearings by the shore, and soon all the sunlight had dissolved – even from the tops of the trees off to the east. It was getting cold again, so I was wearing gloves and reading Earth Prayers to warm my flatlander spirit. This intimate arena is full of the life force, which exists entirely without our help. The lakes don’t need humans. They are perfect without us. Ironically, the only reason they really need human intervention is to protect them from us. From where I was situated between the toes of White Bear Rock, I could see the water shivering in apprehension for the arrival of her lover, the evening. My chosen nook was surrounded by the cutest little toddler trees, as the light softly faded from the sky. The wind died down, as the orchestra of the day finished its overture, and was now warming up for the final act. Soon would begin the climactic movement: the dance of the spheres. The palpable, sentient silence was wholly comforting and purifying in its simplicity. From the backdrop of dark purple granite, the wizened faces gazed out over the lake as they had for millennia, and all was well.
Those quiet moments in the mountains are the cells that course through my bloodstream. They flow around and through me with the purposeful embrace of a river. I am carried along, gratefully caught up in the current of all that is, until I am filled to the marrow. All too soon, the cold on my legs chased me inside the tent. Zipping up my artificial nylon cocoon, I realized that this could be my last alpine evening for a while… if I returned home tomorrow for a day of rest. Being up here all alone had been scintillating and nurturing, as if I had entered another realm of existence: a land of dreams where I was free from the grasp of technology and corporeal pain. Compassionately, I realized that all the physical aches I endured were an instruction manual on how to interface with the nonphysical reality. To the degree that I failed to understand, there was pain.
“At the present time our collective culture sees life primarily from a material perspective –
we worship the god of consumerism, making acquisition our life’s goal. We are imprisoned
within matter. We have forgotten the symbolic and sacred meaning of the outer world.
Alienated from our soul, we have alienated creation from its deeper meaning.
And because we have denied the world its divinity, it is slowly dying.”
— Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee