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The ancient Greek philosopher Protagoras famously said man is the measure of all things. This is in essence the heart of my previous post here. I would elaborate a little. We tend to project our being as an “object” in the world onto the whole of reality. So reason pertains only to the material aspect, principle. When Blaise Pascal , the great Christian philosopher of the seventeenth century, said “The heart has its reasons which reason can never know” he is saying that the heart is the faculty of spirit and operates through intuition. Clearly he places heart above. Spirit over matter. When we “give” attributes to God, for instance, we might say, “God loves me”, we are projecting our humanity onto the whole of creation. That’s fine but we need to have a full understanding that this is in actuality a form of self aggrandizement which I take to be the essence of the “fall” from Grace in the Christian sense. Isn’t it better to just “wait” on the deity? I, personally, can’t arrogate the status to myself that God loves me. My DUTY is to LOVE him! Then, I wait. This is a touch on infinite resignation, the task achieved by Abraham in the primordial act of faith as described when he takes his son Isaac to the mountain as a sacrifice.

A message for my Christian friends.

To think of heaven as a place we go when we die is to cast the hereafter in the light of our being as humans. Our measure of things is based naturally in our physical presence in the world. Anthropomorphism. This works fine except when it is applied to the whole universe. Friends, this IS the “promised land”. You’ve got it all. Yet you want it all. That is kind of crazy, you know? You think you are not complete until you live a good life and die then go beyond to a place of paradise, a heaven? All dichotomies such as this are false. I have to tell you. Heaven is within, it is not a destination. We speak of it as such in order to have it fit our knowledge of our bodies, our being in the world as created entities. If you manage to muddle through and finally reach this place you will turn in wonder and have to admit to yourself, “why, this is the very place I started from. In fact, it is where I have been all along!” All that’s necessary is to cut through the veil of illusion and you can see this anytime, anywhere. Because it is like a sphere whose center is everywhere, whose boundary is nowhere. Don’t take the metaphor for the Real. Own yourself! In that you will own the whole by default.

Notes from September, 2009

Soren Kierkegaard. Reading of Gretall’s Anthology, Pg. 231 (postscript) “God does not think, he creates. God does not exist. He is eternal.”

Existence and eternality are polar opposites. Creation can only occur from the eternal perspective. Potentiality, then, is integral to eternality itself. Also, eternality is that by which we can grasp existence in the first place, in the same way “darkness” is that condition by which there can be light. Unless we witness the created from an eternal perspective it is a constant source of confusion. The self-centered person has lost the eternal perspective. That IS the “fall” from “grace”. It is Materialism, the lot of the Narcissist, the Solipsist. It is to identify with the body instead of the spirit.

The despair is that we cannot know God. Such sorrow as would shame the abyss. We struggle out of this primordial matter to look on a creation the full purpose and meaning of which is ever just beyond our grasp. We close our fist on it only to open our hand to the revelation of….nothing. Completion is only found in the understanding one can never know (God). The transfiguration of sorrow and despair to faith is the infinite resignation to this reality. Only through inwardness do we arrive at this juncture. Not Art, not Science, nor History, especially not speculative Philosophy, and not dogmatic Religion. All of these “endeavors” of man, categories of being in the world, posit truth in an absolute other. And, I agree, Truth is vested in an absolute other, but not like man projects otherness. The absolute other is the repository for all that our understanding approaches but can never quite achieve. That is why the “leap” of faith is required to “realize” ultimate meaning and purpose.

That knot is a clove hitch. I wonder if it was invented during that period of the age of sailing ships, 1500s through the 1600s, that saw the opening of sea lanes from Portugal, Spain, Holland, France, and England to the “Spiceries”, The Moluccas, the Banda Islands, Neira, Run, and so forth. Whatever the history it is a very clever knot, a highly nuanced bit of technology. Suppose I said to you, mariner, we need a knot that no matter how hard we strain it, it is as easily untied as tied. The “clove” hitch is the answer.

Who says it never snows in Central Texas? Well it almost never. The last time this happened was winter 1984. It snowed almost all day and some of the “flakes” were as big as golf balls. Real wet snow and just barely freezing though a week or so ago it got down to ten degrees, the coldest in 14 years but I remember when it got down to 8 one winter. Of course, you might know, we get a lot more ice storms than snow. I guess it averages about one ice storm per winter, about. So, snow here is a big deal.

The deck had snow for three days but most of it was gone in two.

Cedar tree near gate

Winter rye grass and the pond

Looking East from top of hill

Looking South

Looking Southwest

Looking West

Really I had a whole series of dreams. The recurring dream was of construction activity to the East and North of my property and always involved trespassers. No matter what measures I took in these dreams I couldn’t keep the people out. They would drive right through my yard and I’d chase them through the woods. Sometimes I’d grab a firearm and then chase them. I must have had 20 or more of these dreams over a period of ten years at least.

Well it finally came true. They are building a new high tension power line a few hundred yards from my place. It comes from the North and passes me by to the East, heading South. There is a lot of noise, chain saws, drilling machines, caterpillars, air compressors. Also, they have been on the property. I looked out my window, having heard a “vehicle” noise very close, and some guy on an ATV was tooling very fast right through the yard. Previously I’d heard what sounded like a pickup over by my barn. OK, this is it, I thought. What the hell is going on? I chased the guy down. He was looking for power poles. He was getting a GPS fix on every one and labeling as he went. No big deal. But I did take a pistol in the back seat of the truck when I ran after him.

It was a little later I realised those dreams had been prescient. That is a big deal. This has happened to me several times. Dreaming about future events. Interesting. What is time that this can occur?

It’s easy to make things happen. What’s hard is making them turn out the way you’d wish. Once the first shot is fired there is no telling what will pass. It will certainly be interesting, however.

As soon as we got back from our outing I was getting ready, shower, shave, and so forth, for another evening out. It was about seven when I headed out for the Dew Drop Inn. That place being about as dead as a doornail I went to town and lighted at the West Glacier Bar also known as Freda’s. It was not busy at that hour but I had no trouble finding people to talk to. Everyone in sight was younger than me by far. I ordered a scotch and soda. Arthur, the bartender, was friendly. There were only a couple of people at the bar. Arthur was in his 30s I guess and said he had bartended all over the world. He specifically mentioned Okinawa and Sudan, but that is about all the details I got from him. He charged me $2.50 for the drink. I told him that was a good deal. I was looking around, checking people and things out, getting my game going. I read the labels on the tap beer pulls. One of them was organic. I laughed at this and asked if they had any in-organic beer. The guy to my right chuckled and said all beer was organic as far as he was concerned. I laughed and toasted him with here’s to in-organic beer! He responded to my toast it was all star dust anyhow, no kidding, which gained him a rousing affirmative from me.

Right away I noticed that there was more going on on the front porch of the bar than inside so after this little exchange I moved to the bench just outside the door. The porch was small with the bench being just outside the door on the left. It might hold three people comfortably. There was a guy sitting there on the end away from the door. I took the position next to the door which pleased me because there were two very lovely young ladies sitting on the other side of the door on the floor of the porch. They were facing each other and speaking in some European language, I could not quite make it out. I knew it wasn’t German, Spanish, French, or Dutch. About this time my companion on the bench started talking on the phone. I didn’t know what he was speaking either. After he got off the phone I asked him if it was Czech. He said no, Russian. Introducing myself I said, well, welcome to my country. He smiled and said he was American. I said he sounded fluent in his Russian. He said he had been an interpreter for the U.S. Army, had gone to their language school. His name was Kurt and we discussed European and Russian geo-politics for a moment. About this time I also struck up a conversation with another patron. Her name slips my mind but she was from New Zealand. You can see her standing in the door in this picture.

During this small stretch of time I met several people. One young fellow was from San Angelo, Texas where I went to high school. His family were ranchers, had a 2300 acre spread out there. He and I talked about the drought plaguing Texas at the time and how it was causing people in the cattle business to sell off their herds. The couple in the foreground with the girl leaning against the post were early arrivals. I was sitting on the bench with Kurt when they showed up. He shook hands with all the guys in our little group and she got hugs from everyone, so I knew everybody here knew everybody else, just about. I was one of the few outsiders. Turns out all these people were either employees of the park service, the businesses hereabouts, or tourists that were staying for weeks or months instead of days like me. It was a most interesting group of people. Just a bunch of well to do twenty somethings enjoying the good times that go with being young and attractive and far away from home.

The lady from New Zealand. I asked her to sit and Kurt and I made room for her between us. Turns out she was a chemical engineer and ran her own company. She had about seven employees and was traveling on holiday with some neutered guy. I met him and shaking hands was like grabbing hold of a dead fish. Yuck! Someone told me, probably Kurt, that he thought he might be gay which prompted me to ask New Zealand girl whether she liked men. This question was put at the end of the evening, of course, and she didn’t like it, so that ended our contact. Meanwhile we had talked at length about pest problems in NZ from rabbits to deer, and how to deal with them. You see there are no natural predators there so when the King of England brought some deer so he would have something to hunt he created a huge problem for subsequent generations since, I guess, hunting is now not politically correct there.

After a bit I turned to the two girls sitting on the floor on the other side of the door and asked them what language they were speaking. It was Norwegian. As we exchanged names, Tina Marie and Heidi, I slid to the floor beside them. They asked New Zealand lady to join us but she went inside the bar. Tina Marie and Heidi were working on their masters thesis with the park service on some kind of exchange program but were having trouble with their “supervisor”. Improper touching. They were considering quitting which I encouraged them not to do. Tina Marie had, she proclaimed loudly, hitchhiked all over south America. Both girls were quite drunk but just in the best of moods imaginable. Just before I sat down another guy had joined them. He introduced himself as Sean but he left within a few minutes. I think I scared him off. Or, he wanted to play this field himself without competition. I talked to these most delightful girls for an hour or so. It was the highlight of my trip. I have seldom run across people like these. Eventually, drunk as a skunk, I invited myself to take them back to their place. We all three climbed on the K bike, Heidi on the luggage rack, Tina Marie right between us. Of course I got some pictures. New Zealand girlfriend took these.

There was some trepidation on their part, and mine too, about the safety of this operation. They asked me if it was safe. I said, well, let’s sit on the bike and see how it feels, OK? It felt fine and no sooner had we maneuvered out of the parking area onto the highway than Tina Marie tightened her arms around me and yelled at the top of her considerable lungs “Pedal-to-the-Metal”. I obliged, leaning as far forward as I could to compensate for Heidi being so far back on the bike. I was afraid of doing a “wheely” under that condition but both wheels gratefully stayed on the ground. This is a very powerful bike and they got the ride of their life. I rapidly overshot the turn and had to cross a bridge and make turnaround at which point Tina Marie louder than the first time, gripping me for all she was worth, shouted “PEDAL-TO-THE-METAL”, in her Norwegian accent. I don’t know whether Heidi chimed in or not it was so loud, but I could hear both of them screaming, hooting, hollering with peals of laughter and joy. What a ride it was turning out to be. This time I made the turn, and the drama was repeated. All of this was in sight and ear-shot of Freda’s, so we were putting on a show for the patrons which I am sure they enjoyed. I gave the engine full throttle and it screamed louder than all of us together as I redlined the tachometer at 8,000 RPM. Very quickly, way too soon for me, I could have done this all night, we came to their driveway. I couldn’t get invited in because there were other people there, they said. Would I come see them tomorrow in another town to which their duties would take them? No, but I have much enjoyed being friends with you for this all too brief period, I told them. We embraced, kissed, exchanged email addresses, and spoke of the profound meaning of life. I used the Star of David meme for this, me sitting on the bike, them huddled close in the gloaming night to see the diagram I made on a matchbook using the bikes fuel tank for a table. Tina Marie Nagel. Heidi. I will love you forever. I am your knight in shining armour and whenever I sit astride my steed of steel my mind goes to your hearts and pulls them back into orbit around mine.

Monday August 18, 2009
The three of us headed out about nine a.m. The trip lasted all day seeing us back at the camp about four p.m. and included lunch of hamburgers in Babbs, MT. The Going to the Sun road is 50 miles long and stretches from West Glacier to St. Mary, Montana reaching an elevation of just under 7000 feet at Logan’s pass. This is Lake McDonald being one of the first attractions on the route. The video above is McDonald falls and is just at the East end of the lake. Pat took this picture and the video.

Pat was really taken with the pretty rocks. This is her picture too. Gary and I were skipping rocks across the lake meanwhile but we got no pictures of that.

The fee per vehicle to take this ride is $25. Pretty steep, I thought, but it was very crowded. Too crowded in my opinion; not that they should raise the fee more. I think they should not charge fees at all. It is public land after all.

I took these two pictures the first being a glaciated valley and the second is what is left of some old glaciers. You can click on these images of mine to get a much larger view.

On August 16, Sunday, we went for morning worship to the St. John’s Lutheran Church in Great Falls. It was only about a mile from the RV park and we chose it because it was the first church we saw. It was rather a small sanctuary and it was full. The pastor, Steve Nelson, gave a sermon on this the 11th Sunday after Pentecost on the theme “To eat and drink what gives wisdom and God’s life.” There was communion and it seemed to me everyone partook. We were uplifted by this fitting break from our daily routines to give a little back to our heavenly father.

Monday morning, not too bright and early, we packed up the house, as Gary likes to call it, and headed out, with me following on the bike, for the 192 mile trip to West Glacier. The rains that had plagued us off and on for the past few days had cleared out and the weather was simply perfect with mild temperatures and clear blue skies as far as the eye could see across the Montana prairies. The mountains to the West were in the near distance, just far enough away to take on a greyish tinge. We stayed parallel to these till we got even, more or less, with West Glacier, then we headed West. Along the way we stopped at a rest area that as it turns out was the same one Gary and I stopped at on our trip to Alaska a few years ago. That brought back some memories. It was from here that Gary decided to take me up on the offer to trade jobs. He would ride the bike for awhile and I would drive his rig. Pat took the video above of him on my bike.

We saw some buffalo on the way.

We set up the RV in the West Glacier camp ground just a mile from the entrance to the park itself. Here is a picture of Gary and Pat.

And this is the view out the back picture window.

I went to get some gas for the bike as soon as we set up. It was about five p.m. The gas station was back in West Glacier, which, I should say is a postage stamp of a town. A restaurant, a general store, a bar, a gas station. That’s about it. It has one intersection on highway 2, you turn left on the Going to the Sun Highway, and blink your eyes, and you are through the town. This afternoon there were a lot of people hanging around and I took the opportunity to talk to some of them. I spotted the West Glacier Bar for later reference. It was across the street from the gas station. Afterwards I went for a ride back towards the RV park and on past a mile or so. One guy at the campground had said there was a bar out that way a little and I wanted to check it out.

The Dew Drop Inn, said to be the place you could take in some local color, had a fruit stand on the same property right out on the highway. I went there first and sampled and bought some cherries and huckleberry syrup. The cherries were the best I ever had and the propriotor, he gave his name as huckleberry, was friendly enough. I asked him abou the Dew Drop and he said it was the only bar he would frequent, but he didn’t drink, and he avoided my questions as to how lively it got in the evenings. At this time there was no one there, so I didn’t go in since it was too early anyhow. I checked it out at seven p.m. and there was still no one there so I went back to the West Glacier bar.