Joy and Tragedy

Life sometimes feels like a symphony, other times like a cacophony. We experience a world of grandeur and wonder and goodness; we experience a world of destruction and despair and violence. We can choose to simply attend to the consonant moments, and push out of mind all that troubles us and all that is outside our immediate concern. Or we can choose to simply get lost in dissonance, and find some sort of solace in our cynicism and guilt. Yet, there is a third way. We can take in, at our deepest level, the advent of Light and Dark, and choose to be shaped and formed by this journey. We can open our hearts and minds to the full experience of our shared enterprise, uncertain where it will take us, ready to be broken, ready to be made whole.Our way forward, the commitments and efforts we enact in our individual lives, depends on which path we choose.

“Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high, And cheer us by your drawing nigh, Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, And death's dark shadows put to flight.” Light is all around us, and always has been. And so to, Dark. This is what it means to be human. And while we must always work toward love and justice, there will always be pain and loss. The season of Advent calls us to fully live this reality. And if we can find the courage to make this journey, our hope and our faith is that Christmas will be realized: not that Dark will be extinguished, but that there will always be Light.

With those killed through senseless violence and war,With those seeking peace and justice,With those lost through illness and disaster, With new life and new creations, With the pain of exploitation and destruction, With the beauty of the rising sun and an emerging smile, With all our shortcomings and transgressions, With all our strengths and good works, we walk the path of Advent, following the star, seeking the Light.

Fall Snapshots

Georgia Pass Restoration Project 

Back Home 

Halloween with Harry Wormwood 

Colorado Christmas 

Balcony Sunset I 

Balcony Sunset II

Thanksgiving Meditation

We pause from our busy lives today to give thanks. I am thankful for family and friends, life and love, freedom and opportunity, security and peace, beauty and goodness, colorful sunrises and soaring mountaintops, food on the table and a roof over my head. But let us also recognize today that with gratitude and privilege comes responsibility, for many are without food today, many are living on the street, many are unemployed, many live in war and persecution, many are lonely, many are ill, many are hurting, much is damaged. So we give thanks today for the blessings of our lives and the opportunity that we have to be instruments of peace and transformation. Where there is darkness, may we shed light; where there is loneliness, joy; where there is despair, healing. Today we walk humbly with much gratitude, seeking justice, loving kindness, and celebrating the many joys of our lives.

Wormwood Motors

Harry Wormwood, one of the more interesting and scummier villains of children's literature, wants your business. Happy Halloween!

Forge

State of Politics, State of Self

Yes, I am disappointed by the politics of the last four years, but not for reasons some portend. I am disappointed because our efforts to change political culture have been so effectively quashed. Any effort toward civil dialogue is doomed to be exploited by one side, and roundly panned by the other. Compromise and collaboration and even respect are construed as weakness. The state of our political culture continues to deteriorate.

When I listened to the Republican National Convention last week, I heard one speaker hammer the mantra, “They [Democrats] just don’t get it!” And then, when I listened to the Democratic National Convention this week, I heard another speaker chant, “They [Republicans] just don’t get it!” I think there is a conclusion worth considering: none of us get it.

I believe that the great majority of people in this world assess things from where they stand and make an honest effort to make sense of what they see. Since our diversity of life experiences, cultures and emotions creates a variegated terrain of human experience, what we see and where we stand may differ. Therefore our converging efforts may well lead to diverging views on truth, morality, and values. As Einstein noted in quantum theory, the observer shapes what is observed. As post-modern philosophers state, whether there is a universal reality or not, all perspectives are transformed by their conditions of emergence.

So yes, sometimes I just don’t get it. I sometimes don’t understand how a particular person (or denomination or political party) can think or feel a certain way. How can they support cause x, y, or z? How can they believe this or that to be true? How can they not see what I see,  think as I think? And here we have come to the crux of the matter. How should I respond when I just don’t get it?

Throughout history, a common rejoinder is simply to proclaim our rightness and attack the other’s wrongness. The manifestations of this approach are many: demonizing, dehumanizing, debasing, discrediting, disdaining - and that is just one letter of the alphabet. There is also war, heckling, attack ads, polemics, dialogue with agendas, hate, talking heads, bullying, religious violence, character assassination, telling others what to do, and the dilapidated state of affairs of contemporary political culture. All of these responses seem selfish and narrow. None of these responses feel right, to me. I believe that we are capable of so much more.

So again, what should I do when I just don’t get it? I have been thinking about this for some time now and have come to a working conclusion: the response to difference must be transformation of the self, not transformation of the other. I agree with Ghandi. I need to be the change I want to see in the world.  Light must come from within if I wish to share it.

You may contend that self-development is all well and good, but nevertheless there are things worth standing up for, change that won’t happen without action, and so on. I do not disagree. I also agree that some conflict is fine, even healthy. However - and this is a significant point - I am not talking about outcomes here. Rather I am talking about process (from which outcomes flow). The human condition essentially guarantees that I won’t always get it. Do I start from who is right and who is wrong, or do I start from what type of person I want to be?

I want to be a person that responds to difference with positivity, empathy, and humility. I have work to do. But our world, our future, our children deserve more. I can do better. We can do better.

Dansa!

Iceland, Chapter One.

101 Reykjavík

In a trip loaded with highlights, the final evening produced yet another enlightening experience. It started at Björn's apartment, just down the street. Björn is an Icelandic-Alaska, and vice versa, who shares a common connection in Denver. He cordially invited us over to his top-level harbor view flat for a BBQ. We met a couple of Björn's roommates, including Nathan, a gregarious young Frenchman working seasonal employment as a lagoon tour guide. Nathan spoke English through his French accent, with a lisp, and a touch of Icelandic. We feasted on a proper and contemporary Icelandic BBQ: a platter of hot dogs, potato chips, then a platter of pork chops, some bleu cheese stuffed mushrooms, and baked potatoes, with stout coffee and Hraun (Lava) bars for dessert (at 11:00 PM). Dialogue was a cross between humorous and insightful, with Björn and Nathan engaging in a sweeping cross-cultural observation of Iceland. Ground covered included: a heated debate about the merits of abstract artwork, the cult of binge drinking in Iceland, the six declinations of Icelandic nouns along with the proper pronunciation of "ll" (ktllh), the Icelandic rescue squad, the cult of the hamburger, the fleeting nature of late night romantic flings in Reykjavík, the skiing near Akuyeri, the high cost of goods, and a vote on the acceptability of Nathan's lounging/granny pants. Across the bay, the sun continued on a slow shallow arc behind brooding charcoal and slate clouds.

Around midnight, Björn and Nathan took us on a guided tour of the famed runtur, or drunken weekend wanderings of the Icelanders. We started with Hjálmar, a local reggae band playing at a cool club, Faktory. Nathan took us right up front and we soon found ourselves surrounded by a forest of Scandinavian giants, 6'6" clean cut blond guys wearing odd hats and sunglasses. Björn occasionally translated some of the lyrics, but we spent most of the night singing along to the choruses in an ad hoc gibberish: yao, yao, yao..yao, yao! At the intermission, one inebriate stumbled and took a header at our feet. "That was a little early," explained Nathan. "It is only 1:00 AM. About 3:00, many people start tipping over. At 4:00, things peak. That is when people start smashing their glasses in the street!" At the end of the set, the stoic lead Viking of Hjálmar assumed the power stance, pumped his fist in the air, and belted a screeching falsetto, "Taaaakkkkk fyriiirrrr!" (Thank you.) Awesome.

We poured into the street around 2:15 AM, and it was kind of, sort of dark, more so gray. Björn then escorted us to the trendy/art/gay bar Bakkus. We stood in the queue for awhile and Björn introduced us to a Scandinavian giant from the search and rescue squad - he seemed like an affable guy. About 15 minutes later we made it into the club and headed for the packed dance floor, where a drunken mob gyrated to thumping Euro-electronica. There were these tall skinny model types all around wearing these odd, chic clothes that I thought people only wore on the runway. But don't get the wrong impression; these twiggy individuals danced with a fury. In fact, in the mix, I felt like a pebble bouncing down a glacial river, getting pummeled and shoved from all directions. It was quite a blast, like being part of a spasmodic amoeba.

After the long day, Jenean turned in for some sleep and to rest her ankle. In turn, I set out to capture some photos. An awesome cloudscape - like a fantastical painting - took on the colors and shadows of the rising sun (around 3:00 AM). I sat by the Viking ship for awhile and took in the grandeur of the sky and sea.

Now things really started to get strange. For one, random people started asking me things in Icelandic, and when I would reply in English, they would keep talking to me in Icelandic as if I understood. I am still not sure what they were telling me. With the sun on the climb, the streets of the city started to feel the calm and beginning of a new day. At the same time, we ascended toward the apex of the runtur. Long lines queued at the hot dog stands. Pairs of people stumbled around in an interdependent effort to hold each other upright. Others sat in the nooks and crannies of the street, somewhere between passed out and resting. Large oblivious groups seemed to surreptitiously merge together from different pedestrian currents. Coming to realize the happenstance of a group now in their path, high fives and big man hugs were administered with gusto. I am not sure if they were friend or stranger, but I doubt it mattered.

With a short night of sleep ahead, I wandered back to the hostel, content to be part of such a strange wonderful world. 

3 AM Sunrise 

Outside the club, 4 AM 

Journeys, new and old

A large portion of our airfare to Iceland was funded by the inheritance my parents passed onto us after the sale of my grandma and grandpa's house in Sauk Rapids. Since my grandparents enjoyed to travel so much, I know that they would appreciate us doing the same.

Yvette was very expressive and carried a lot of energy. Arnold was content to sit back, be silly, and smile. My grandma would say, "Iceland!?! Geesh! Is it buggy?" My grandpa would be content to listen to my descriptions of the birds and the fishing and the music. My grandma would be keen to know about the prices of things and the measures we took to "get a good deal." My grandpa would raise his eyebrows in a silly way to express his approval at my descriptions of playing air guitar on a volcano rim. Both would love to hear about the loon calls we heard echoing across the vast blue lake, Frostastaðavatn. I would tell them how the ethereal chuckle of the loon immediately brought me back to early mornings at the cabin at Long Lake, where they would take my cousins and me for adventurous weeks during the summer. I would recall how my fledgling wonder with travel and exploration and freedom found fertile ground in those long and roaming days chasing frogs, mapping the woods, and taking solo paddle boat rides to - what seemed like - the far end of the world.

My grandma and grandpa sit back, and they smile.

Strange, but in all my readings and research about Iceland, I never came across any mention of loons. How nice, then, that this pair of loons decided to leave its winter home on the Atlantic and not - per usual - head to Minnesota for the summer but instead visit us here in Iceland!

All my love...

Frostastaðavatn

Kristínartindur

I emerged into the cool overcast morning around 6 AM. After a spot of air guitar overlooking the curving form of the glacier, I started a forthright climb up into the low ceiling of gray clouds. Shortly, with greatly diminished sight, I attempted to follow a faint trail across the loose quadrilaterals and polygons of shale, the sage-colored tundra grasses. The tread would come and go, but with a little intuition and forward progress, I managed to regain the trail after each departure. At first melancholy about the shrouded vistas, I came to appreciate the more immediate experience of the climb, and took to having a closer look at all the wonderful dimensions immediate. And though I could not see whatsoever the majestic peaks and vast ice fields all around, I could sense that there was something powerful nearby, somewhere in the cloud.

After some time, I started to notice more light filtering into the cloud I was in. The pale gray started to meld into warmer tones. Not long after, I noticed that I could see the sun - dimly - through the overcast sky. I continued up the flank of the mountain, now steeper. I took in the green upslope to my left, suddenly realizing the vague but brooding outline of a jagged ridgeline towering overhead. I felt like a field mouse who suddenly realizes the fixed gaze of a hawk. And then, I noted, abruptly, a line of towering spires unveiling to the north. And then - my goodness! -  hovering angelically to the east, the massively-glaciated Hvannadalshnúkur, sitting atop an ether of clouds. Where there was nothing but white a minute ago, now the highest point in Iceland brooded, glinting in a buttery sunlight. A bout of vertigo overwhelmed my sense of things; I took a seat and marveled at the new dimensions. It was as if I was seeing the world anew.

After regaining my senses, I took a lot of pictures and offered video monologues at length, speaking of the "dawn of creation" and the "birthing of the earth from the ethereal fog." These are soaring statements indeed but they still fall short to describe the inner experience bedazzled by mountains taking form before my eyes.

I made the rest of the climb up to my high point near the summit of Kristínartindur. The clouds continued to unveil more and more. The long flowing lines of Skaftafellsjökull. The thundering ice cap of morsárdalur. Vatnajökull himself spanning off into the northern horizon.

Before I left, I took one final view into each of the directions, pausing a moment to offer gratitude to all before me. It was the least I could do, given all that was shared with me on this wonderful morning in Iceland. 

Hvannadalshnúkur

 Morsárdalur

Theodicy

An individual committed a heinous evil act, murdering men, women and children gathered to watch a movie. My heart grieves for the loss and suffering endured by the victims and their loved ones left behind. I mourn for the Light extinguished so senselessly on that day. In the wake of hurtful evil acts, we rush to understand why such darkness has entered our lives. When we are loosened from our moors, it is reasonable to reach out for something solid to steady ourselves, some explanation, some solution.

To a degree, I believe that evil is - in some knowable way - a result of causes and conditions. In this view, evil is a developmental deficit. Stemming from my belief in the wholeness of all, I assert that each person enters this world whole - that is to say, filled with dignity and complete with the potential to grow into the Light. Throughout life, our inner selves develop and transform dependent on the inputs and conditions around us. Light begets Light, and as we continue to grow, we become who we are to Be.  But if there is a deficit of Light, or worse, a surfeit of Darkness, we cannot grow as humans. With a deficit of Light, it seems, we are susceptible to selfish, disconnected, hurtful acts.

In my mind, this is how I make sense of things, this is some sort of explanation that prevents the ground from entirely falling out from under me. Such a theodicy is a working definition, something that accommodates my perspective and my experiences. But ultimately, I am certainly uncertain whether or not such a framework holds water amongst the diversity of the human perspectives and experiences. And it certainly provides no answer to the foundational question, which is: why is darkness a possibility in the first-place?

So, honestly, I cannot understand the entirety of the causes and conditions that led to such an evil act; I am wary of projecting my own subjective understandings onto universal explanations; I am wary of projecting my own desire for control onto an all-knowing, all-powerful entity somewhere out there. At the deepest level, all I can say is that I cannot fully know why such sorrow and suffering enters the human experience. My focus instead is to consider deeply how to respond to such darkness, and how to transform my life to bring more light into the world. Whether or not we can understand darkness, whether or not we are able to solve evil acts, I am called to enact life and love in the world, to be part of salvation here and now. I am enjoined to live into the abundance of the spiritual life, and to share that abundance courageously. 

Wildfires and Life Cycles

Wildfires rage through foothills forests. Homes are destroyed. Lives are lost. The sky turns charcoal gray.

I empathize with the focus on our homes lost, our favorite forest gone, our air difficult to breathe. I do not deny the suffering of these realities. But I think it is also significant to step back and attempt to view - if dimly - the larger whole. For, a wildfire - while destructive - is equally creative. A wildfire is part of the natural life cycle of a forest. Perhaps we struggle to see this since the life cycle of a forest is much longer than our own life cycle. Perhaps we struggle to see the myriad relationships between our life cycle and the forest’s life cycle because our own survival keeps us busy enough. Perhaps we struggle to see how destruction could possibly lead to creation since our consciousness - it seems - is bookended by our individual birth and death. But I believe that our finite life, just like the finite life of a tree in the forest, is part of the greater life cycle: the interconnectedness, transformation, and wholeness of all things.

As humans, we possess the capacity and desire to celebrate each spark - fleeting as it is - in the consuming fire. This is love, which happens to be a prerequisite for loss and sadness. This is to be human, and is divine. But in the suffering of the individual, we are held in the embrace of the whole. This embrace does not belittle our sadness, but it holds us in the awareness that our existence, while finite, is connected to something greater. And in this awareness, we come to find transformation, and healing.  

Become who you are

“If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living”

 - Joseph Campbell

I keep thinking that life cannot get any better, but then it does. Jenean and I returned to Utah, only to be amazed all over again. I sat humbly before the mesmerizing hoodoos of Bryce Amphitheater, only to then wander through the dreamscape of Fairyland Canyon. I gazed at the universe surrounding me through the deep dark skies, only to witness our sun returning once again to bring forth the oranges, purples, and whites of the desert. All was right with the world. All was filled with Light. Jenean and I followed the open road home, feeling overwhelmingly happy.

But then we went to a concert - Of Monsters and Men. The band put on a great performance. Add to that a musical style made to be played live. Add to that a great audience. Now we have a great show. But there was something more, something special that cannot be crafted or attempted or pursued. It was a time and place, a moment, of becoming. A moment where the people on stage were doing what they should be doing, and I too was where I should be. It was a moment, an experience, when forces coalesce, when lives cross paths, when the threads of history weave, when people live into the Light, and creation unfolds. It is hard to put words to these experiences, but it feels like anything is possible, that everything has the potential for good, and that all is interconnected. 

And I think that this process is what really is behind my perception of life getting better and better. It is not necessarily about relationships, or things, or experiences, as my life has been graced with love and opportunity in all of its years. Rather, it is a growing mindfulness of the path before me, an increased ability to be who I am to be, an intersection of forces and threads and experiences. I am becoming more and more inspired - and more and more humbled - to live into the Light that surrounds me completely.  

Birthday

At the age of 31, it has finally struck me: each birthday is an individual thanksgiving. It is a day that makes clear the life and love that fills our days. I am filled with gratitude for all the people, places, experiences, and opportunities that have formed and shaped my life to here. All: Thank You! 

Writing

To write is to conceptualize my inner perception into an outer medium. A dialectic results with perception shaping medium, and medium in turn shaping perception. This process strives to make meaning out of experience, and, subsequently, to make connections between meaning. Why does this matter? Then: How does this matter?  

High Rollers

With the wives out of town and Chad preparing to leave Colorado in the coming weeks, we decided it was Go Time. Climbing the Coors Crag on North Table Mountain, we texted the guys to recruit them to an epic night. Alas, none were available; it is likely that their wives were in town. As it were, Chad and I stopped climbing in the rain and headed to the hot tub instead. There we mulled over evening and decided that it was time to do something adventurous. Our plans solidified on the walk down to Qdoba. Let's go to Blackhawk!

Blackhawk is an old mining town that has been converted into a gambling mecca in the foothills. Only passing through Blackhawk on previous skiing outings, we decided tonight to take it by storm.

Before we got out of Golden, we were pulled over. After getting a warning for faulty equipment, we located our theme song: Johnny Cash Ghost Riders in the Sky. Yippeee i Ohhh! Yippeee i Ehhhh! A quick stop at Bullwhacker's for an energy drink, we rolled into the towering Ameriprise parking ramp.

Our goal was to find a cheap buffet, karaoke, and free pop. In the Gilpin Casino, Chad spotted a penny slot featuring a rampaging buffalo - Dakota Thunder. I won $6. We wandered into one of the shadier casinos, lured in by the advertisement for $2.99 prime rib. The joint was a bust, though, as the prime rib looked to be gas station quality and we lost a dollar in Lucky Seven. We downed some Mountain Dew, listened to a live band, and found a free photo booth.

Up the road a few miles in Central City, we headed to Bonanza Casino. A man with a cowboy hat and a six shooter checked our IDs. At the simply named slot, Buffalo, I won $10 - apparently to the chagrin of the lady sitting next to me, who was presumably perturbed but some sort of etiquette breach. Both Chad and I then employed great skill and won a couple more bucks at the Red White and Blue Lucky Seven. Man, I didn't know gambling was such easy money!

Around midnight, we made a pitstop at Z Casino. Serendipitously, we came across the $7.77 Prime Rib dinner. Combined with apple pie, it made a nice toast to the evening.

Finally, we returned via the Central City Parkway. Either the Colorado Department of Transportation hit a windfall or the gambling municipalities have wealth to spread around, for the insignificant road over the mountain pass was built like an interstate. Once we merged onto I-70, giant snowflakes fell furiously. Given our hypercaffeinated state, it was like driving through the twilight zone. But Chad kept her on the road this time and we rolled into town with our new wealth. Or my new wealth anyway as Chad had only fond memories and a prime rib in his belly. 

Eric's Visit

Eric came into town to visit for a few days. On Friday we had some tasty food, including Black Bean Burgers for lunch and Pad Thai for dinner. In between, we went for a jog on the mesa. On Saturday, we headed up to Loveland for some skiing. Given the abnormally warm March, we were skiing on soft spring corn snow. It makes for great turns but can flip you over just as easily. I missed out on Eric's great tumble. That night, we stayed in Silverthorne at the Decker Condo. We sat in the hot tub for awhile, made some hearty spaghetti, and watched some basketball. On Sunday, we went for a hike up into Herman's Gulch. Then we played some pool back at our place and watched college hockey. That night Eric took us out to Mimi's Cafe for dinner! All in all, a great visit. 

Relaxing in Golden

The Perfect Mascot

Adopting a new tact, I picked my NCAA Basketball bracket by mascot. I selected the mighty Tigers to win the entire tournament. However, they were defeated in the first round by the Spartans. Overall, the strategy fared poorly. I guess the mascots do not correspond to the team, or I need to re-evaluate the ability of various mascots to play basketball.

In any case, the perfect mascot is The Gerbils. If, for example, the Georgetown Gerbils entered the tourney, they would be sure to win it all. A Gerbil is the perfect mixture of speed with curiosity, diminutive in size yet persistent and undaunted. A Gerbil will not stop until a task is finished - such as ripping an egg carton to shreds. A Gerbil would similarly rip an opponent to shreds in the sports arena. Yet a Gerbil will look adorable doing so; hence, everyone will cheer for the Gerbil. The Gerbil is the epitome of courage, teamwork, and climbing/burrowing ability.

The other day I ate my dinner in the bathroom while Savvy the gerbil toured around the room. I gave her a bit of my hamburger bun for a treat. Before I knew it, Savvy clamored up onto my plate and surely would have started eating my hamburger bun right then and there had I not pulled it to safety. She then proceeded to climb onto my shoulder and lean out precariously in the direction of my hamburger. I guess gerbils really like bread. 

so adorable, so intimidating

A Backcountry Classic

"Let's mix it up a little!" Chad declared with enthusiasm as we pulled into the trailhead parking lot. A few seconds later, the car was stuck in the ditch. Fortunately, I had my avalanche shovel at hand and five minutes later, we were safely parked within the bounds of the lot.

We toured up into the expansive alpine terrain below Jones Pass. Plumes of snow crystals wisped off the high ridges, refracting the bright sunlight. After a warm-up run, we climbed back up to the top through the forest. There, an untouched glade of snow lay hidden, the sun spotlighting the opening amongst the shaded trees. If you listened closely, you could hear angelic voices sing, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh."

Pushing our way through a wind storm above treeline, we set off in search of the hidden entry to the hidden Golden Glade, as we called it. We started out too far right and made a corrective traverse, then spotted the way in! As we took a moment to savor the anticipation, suddenly a circus crashed into our solitary abode. First three skiers, then two more, then four passed right by us en route to the Golden Glade. No! The snowcat guided operation! But then - divine intervention. The circus paused before the glade to regroup. "Go Chad! Go!" And we blazed right past them to claim the powder stash! Victory was ours! This was - perhaps - the most harrowing and most dramatic run of my life.

We concluded the outing with a trip out to the ridge hemming in the basin. Scoring some great powder turns, we blasted back down into the trees. As the grade moderated, we took to a creek/gulch as the path of least resistance heading in the direction of our car. After awhile, the route flattened, Chad fell in the creek, and we resorted to a four-point slog through the powder to exit the gulch.

All in a day's play in the backcountry.

Snow Day!

There were rumblings of an approaching storm. To manage the general blasé nature of winter on the plans, I tend to remain blithely unaware of the weather. Yet, I went to sleep feeling cautiously optimistic about snow on the horizon.

I do not sleep much on such nights. I tend to wake quite frequently in the hope that it is 5:00 AM, for this is the time that the college posts any weather cancellations. The hour finally arrived and I dialed the information line: Snow Day!

That morning, I headed to North Table Mountain to cross-country ski. With the heavy snow and howling wind, the city quickly disappeared and I was left to a disorienting prairie wilderness atop the mesa. I toured around for an hour before coming across any other tracks. And, after following these tracks for awhile, I realized that they were mine, only now I traveled in the opposite direction.

Jenean joined me in the afternoon and we headed out the door to sled on the flanks of South Table Mountain. As the gray light faded, the lights of Denver West twinkled to life. We christened a new run, Bushy Couloir, or South Face Off-Camber Direct.

The following day the sun came out and the 18+ inches of new snow glistened. Chad, Emily, Jenean and I headed to nearby Green Mountain for some more sledding action. A number of skiers were also out and about to score some urban turns. The sledding was fantastic! We then headed a few miles into the foothills and cross country skied through 30+ inches of snow at Elk Meadows. A deep track cut through the woods on a long traverse and it was truly magical. I returned the following day for more of the same. 

sledding the urban mountains

Seeking and Finding

“What could I say to you that could be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.”

 – Siddhartha, Herman Hesse

It was the ninth hour of our trek across Rocky Mountain National Park. My friend curled on the ground against a rock. Surrounded by the inky darkness, it was difficult to discern boulder from person though he rested only a few feet away. In our small enclave, a few short stout pines clung to the earth and stood strong against a howling wind. With a shiver, I reluctantly concluded that it was time to leave our final protectorate and venture toward the summit of Flattop Mountain.

The idea was to simplify existence, if only for a day. We planned to travel with minimal provisions and supplies. We would just walk and then walk some more until we reached Grand Lake. After all, John Muir made extended treks into the High Sierra with nothing but a loaf of bread.  Inuit apprentice shamans ambled across the Arctic for days on vision quests. Jesus wandered the wilderness unsupported. Of course, sometimes such ideas seem more logical in theory, less so in practice.

As it were, I found myself slogging uphill on an ice-packed trail into a vicious Rocky Mountain wind in the middle of the night. My headlamp cast forth enough light to see a few steps ahead but paled in comparison to the crushing night. Our chatter of adventures and beauty stilled, replaced solely by determined effort to place one foot in front of the other.

An hour after leaving our final shelter, we came to a wooden sign indicating an overlook. Though we pointed our headlamps into the abyss, there was nothing to be seen other than light disappearing into darkness.  We inched toward the edge and craned our necks.  As I peered into the vastness, the vastness peered back with a gaze so immediate and penetrating that the exposure sent a shudder down my spine. Dread fired through every fiber in my body.  What, exactly, have I gotten myself into?

At this time of Lenten reflection, I wonder what might happen if our inner experience of religion mirrored such an outer experience of wilderness. What if we wandered into the terrain of our souls with only a minimal supply of certainty? What if we simplified our theologies by removing our armor of words and explanations, our security of hopes and petition? Yes, we may find a vastness and groundlessness that makes us shudder and leaves us feeling cold and alone. But my hunch is that we might experience something more.

Back at the edge of the abyss, I soldiered enough courage to stand my ground before the vast elemental forces of the earth. The feeling of dread slowly faded away. In its place a growing sense of wildness and freedom and power took root. Sure, I was freezing cold in the pitch dark on the side of a mountain in the middle of a wind storm. True, what we originally sought was a sunrise view from the summit and a victory trek down to Grand Lake. And yes, by the following afternoon we had attained both of these goals. However, the true inspiration, the true power emerged not from gaining what we sought, but from experiencing what we found. As the darkness and wind penetrated straight through all our plans and ambitions, we uncovered a core experience as enlivening as mysterious. And there, the division between the inner and outer terrain blurs. 

“The power of such a mountain is so great and yet so subtle that, without compulsion, people are drawn to it from near and far, as if by the force of some invisible magnet; and they will undergo untold hardships and privations in their inexplicable urge to approach...the center of this sacred power.”

– Lama Anagarika Govinda

Saucy the Gerbil

Part I: Rest in Peace, Saucy

Two years ago, I never would have imagined shedding a tear over the death of a Being so small and non-human as a gerbil. But two years later, I struggle to hold back tears. Saucy died last night.

Saucy had been showing the signs of her age in the last six months. On a few occasions, a concerning apathy overtook her normal curious energetic gerbil self and I wondered if she was ill. She rallied from those days but in the last month, I noticed she was really losing weight. Her normal curious energetic gerbil self remained, but she was showing signs that she was in fact pushing into the long end of a normal gerbil life expectancy range.

Early this week, Saucy became listless and spent most of her time sleeping in her burrow. As the week progressed, her breathing became harder, she refused to drink water, she hardly opened her eyes, and she would only eat if hand-fed. By Thursday, even the greatest of gerbil treats – the Cheerio – went half-eaten and then dropped. Jenean and I took this as a certain and saddening sign that she was letting go of life. We said our goodbyes before going to bed. Miraculously, Saucy was still hanging on, if tenuously, on Friday morning. We said our goodbyes again before going to work. To my surprise Saucy still turned to greet me – with great effort – when I came home Friday evening.

Then something truly amazing happened. As I shopped for groceries, Jenean sat by the gerbils’ home to keep them company. Saucy – after four days in her burrow – suddenly wandered out. She could hardly walk and her eyes barely opened. Jenean started rubbing Saucy’s back. Before long, Saucy climbed into Jenean’s hand and just sat there. Jenean took her out of the cage for awhile and then returned her, thinking she would be more comfortable there. Yet, Saucy refused to leave Jenean’s hand. Now, this is out of the ordinary on two accounts. First, Saucy somehow found the energy to move from her burrow out into the open. Second, and perhaps more strange, is the fact that gerbils will usually climb in your hand – sure – but within a split-second they are climbing up your arm or into your pocket or down your pant leg. But Saucy just climbed into Jenean’s hand to rest – for an hour. When I came home, Jenean passed Saucy onto me and Saucy cuddled into my hands for another 45 minutes. She took a nibble from an apple, she took a few bites from her Cheerio, momentarily she would try to explore and be curious, but her body was failing her spirit.

I hesitate to speculate on the going-ons in the mind of a gerbil, but I do know that both Jenean and I found Saucy’s never-before-seen behavior to be very meaningful. We were grateful for a sign that our dying gerbil connected with us just as we felt connected to her. And we were thankful for the opportunity to feel like we were doing something, somehow, to ease her passing.    

Suddenly, Saucy felt compelled to move, to get somewhere. She didn’t want to be held so I placed her back in her home. She didn’t want to be in her home and she quickly climbed back into my hand. I moved to set her on the ground to let her go wherever she felt compelled to go. Before I got that far, her whole body tensed with such force that I nearly dropped her. Her face was intense as if all her senses were overloaded as death swept over her. I quickly placed her back in her home as I did not know what else to do. One more intensity passed over her and then – just as suddenly – all her tension and all her liveliness slipped away.

It was the first time I experienced death first-hand, face to face, in all its cataclysmic intensity…and then release. For me, it was painful to witness and is now painful to recall. For all parties involved, I am thankful that the final fury of dying only lasted a few seconds. I would like to think that Saucy knew this difficult moment loomed and was therefore in such haste to get to an open space. Maybe somehow she intuitively knew that it was easier for the living to only experience the moment of death but once. Whether or not this is true, it is the meaning my heart has captured. And as silly as it sounds, I believe that Saucy taught me something about dying – and living  – in her final hours. Saucy – Jenean, Savvy, and I will miss you!

Spirit moves through the waters of creation:

All Being and Essence unfolds.

We are born, we live, and we die.

We love and we laugh.

We grieve and we shed tears.

Your heart is heavy, your loss is real.

But that which has brought you here will also take you home.

We grieve and we shed tears.

We love and we laugh.

We are born, we live, and we die.

All Being and Essence unfolds:

Spirit moves through the waters of creation.

Part Two: Saucy!

Two years ago, Jenean floated the idea of getting gerbils as pets. At the time, I was not eager to bring any animals into our home, but it seemed like a decent compromise between owning a dog and owning no pets whatsoever. One Saturday I spent the day out-of-town skiing and lo and behold I returned to two little curious yet nervous gerbils. They were contained and easy to care for, so at first blush it seemed like a decent compromise.

It didn’t take long, however, for Saucy and Savvy to win me over – probably a matter of hours. They were quirky little bundles of energy that entertained me and engaged with me for hours on end.  I found kindred spirits curious to explore the world and give any task in front of them a go. Throughout our time together, I was fascinated over and again by these little animals that became a part of our home and our family.  

Spending so much quality time with the gerbils, I came to know the distinct traits and personalities of each gerbil. In many ways, Savvy and Saucy were different from each other and unique.

 First, Savvy was usually the first to try things, but Saucy always took it to the next level. So Savvy was the first to run in her ball (off into the living room). Saucy, however, could outdistance Savvy any day once she became acquainted with running in her ball (Saucy would run non-stop for over an hour, bouncing back and forth from the refrigerator to the stove to the cabinet). Savvy was the first to climb onto my shoulder, sure, but Saucy made the first intrepid climb from my shoulder to the top of my head. Savvy was the first to jump into her cage from its edge, but Saucy was the first (and only one) to leap off the bath tub onto the bathroom floor. Bonzai!

Second, Savvy was the home organizer, whereas Saucy was the home supervisor. If a new piece of cardboard was placed in their home, Savvy would frenetically set to ripping it to shreds. Saucy, on the other hand, would sometimes partake in the shredding and sometimes perch on her two hind legs and oversee Savvy’s work. Or if I uncovered their food dish to refill it, Savvy would maniacally fling bedding through the air with her hind legs until it was covered (usually leaving a large and conspicuous pile indicating where the food dish was). Saucy, instead, would dive into the blizzard of bedding and grab some food. She would then head into the corner, nibble on her food, and observe Savvy’s mania.

Lastly, when it came to wrestling, Savvy usually adopted a low to the ground stance, occasionally using her quickness or aerial maneuvers to catch Saucy off-guard. Often, however, Saucy would dominate the match, standing like a grizzly bear on her haunches and then flipping Savvy over for the pin. Their wrestling style probably resulted from the reality of their size mismatch but also reflected their particular personalities.

On the flip side, you have the common gerbil style evinced by both Saucy and Savvy.

First you have “gerbil energy.” Of course gerbils sleep and nap and lounge, but they undertake any waking activity with amazing gusto. Whether the activity be wrestling, or running in a ball, or building a burrow, or shredding an egg carton, or eating a Cheerio, gerbils attack the activity with fervor and enterprise. You get the sense that they are absolutely psyched to be doing whatever it is that they are doing, no exceptions. That positive energy is something we can all learn from. 

Next you have “gerbil curiosity.” To a gerbil’s mind, it seems, the absolute best way to figure something out is to give it a go and see what happens. Scaling walls to jumping off things to exploring dark tunnels (pant legs): I wonder what this is about, let’s find out! The activity of life, it seems, is an incredibly interesting thing to gerbils and they don’t want to miss a thing!

Lastly you have the greatest of these: “gerbil love.” Each and every day, no matter what happened, Savvy and Saucy seemed to be the greatest of friends. Gerbil love, in particular, is the patience and warmth of sitting right next to your buddy all hours of the day! Savvy and Saucy lived in a relatively small space, yet they would cuddle up in a corner to eat dinner or pile on top of each other to sleep at night. When Saucy was sick, Savvy spent long hours right by her side.

Saucy quickly found a way into my heart. I am thankful that I had the opportunity to have her in my life. I hope that I somehow made her life better, too.   

Christmas Time

Jenean and I left a snowy Denver and headed east on a Thursday evening. The drive to Minnesota went smoothly if uneventfully. We arrived at a truck stop diner in Northfield around 10:00 AM and met up with my Dad for breakfast (he happened to be in the area for work). All in all, it was about a 17 hour leisurely drive.

That night we headed to Jenean’s ten-year high school reunion. I found it more entertaining than expected. It was interesting to observe all the different behaviors and psychologies on display. Plus there was food to eat.

On Christmas Eve, we went to church in St. Louis Park before heading out to Shakopee to Pat and Harold’s house. Of course we stopped to walk-through the menagerie of classic Christmas lights and displays at the house on Shakopee Avenue. There was all sorts of tasty food for dinner and then an impressive array of sweets, cookies, and bars for dessert.

On Christmas day, we started with gifts and a tasty stuffed French toast breakfast. Then we headed up to Foley for Christmas at my parent’s house. I drank a Wild Cherry Pepsi, ate a number of meatballs, and also taco dip. Overall, I think I ate my fill of sweets and meats to last until at least February. The Wahlins came out and we opened some more gifts. We then went for a nice stroll along the road with views of an intense sunset filled with oranges, yellows and pinks. Before heading in for dinner, Kayla, Kennedy and I salvaged what we could of the dusting of snow and pulled each other around in sleds.

Later in the week, Madison, Megan, Kayla and Kennedy spent two nights in Foley. Given the complete lack of snow, we found other things to do, such as tree climbing, four-wheeling, going to the park, and making a movie. We decided to film a re-enactment of The Christmas Carol with Scrooge (me), Bob Cratchet (Megan), the Ghost of Marley (Madison), Mrs. Cratchet (Kennedy), Tiny Tim (Kayla), and some panhandlers (my Mom and Dad).

One evening we met up with Mike, Cindy, and Josh. It is always fun to reconnect with friends who you have not seen in some time. With those guys, it seems like you never miss a beat even when you do not see them for a year or two.

Towards the end of the week, we headed back down to St. Louis Park. We toured the American Swedish Institute, which highlighted the Scandinavian penchant for gnomes, elves, and trolls (I will need to go on an elf hunt when we are in Iceland). We also saw the movie We Bought a Zoo, which was much better than I expected.

On New Year’s Eve, we headed to David and Erin’s place in St. Bonifacius. Luke, Cheryl, and Chadley were also in attendance. It was cool to spend more quality time with Simone. We made homemade pizzas and played some board games into the night. It also snowed a few inches, so our Minnesota trip was not completely lacking the white stuff.

We decided to meander back to Colorado via southwest Minnesota, southern South Dakota, and the sandhills region of northern Nebraska. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere South Dakota I was pulled over; it turns out I only had one good headlight. Otherwise, it was smooth sailing to our economical yet pleasant motel in Valentine, Nebraska. We picked up some subs and then watched a television documentary on trekking to the North Pole. I think, given the option, that I would choose a North Pole attempt over a Mt. Everest attempt.

We slowly rolled out of town the following morning and into the Nebraska sandhills. The rolling terrain is not the most spectacular thing I have ever seen, but much more interesting than the rest of Nebraska. We drove on double-track into the Valentine Wildlife Refuge. Rolling hills, windmills, and iced-over lakes comprised the landscape. We followed the road to Clear Lake and were greeted by an unexpected and amazing cacophony of ice expansion. There were the normal ethereal groans and sharp popping sounds associated with a frozen lake in transition. In addition, what is best described as the sound of a Star Wars battle emanated relentlessly from under the ice. Think laser cannons, or whatever they shoot on Star Wars. Seriously, I think there was a crazy Jedi battle happening, hidden, under the ice in the middle of nowhere in northern Nebraska. Jenean and I sat on the ice, mesmerized by its sounds, for a good half-hour. It was, by all accounts, a one-of-a-kind experience. We then proceeded on some road-trail across the sand prairie in search of whatever we could find. There, we happened along an indent in the sand that held a frozen pond. I figured, I’ve been carrying my ice skates all around on this trip, I may as well use them for once! So I spent about a half hour skating around a 30’x20’ pond in a sand indent in the middle of the rolling prairie. It was quite the experience! To cap off the excursion, Jenean climbed a windmill.

We then drove the remaining 6 hours to Denver, once again listening to an over-the-top Nevada Barr mystery on tape. We stopped at an awesome BBQ place in North Platte. I don’t remember what it was called but it had a giant pig on the sign and the building looked a Denny’s-Bonanza-barn hybrid. We arrived in Colorado just in time to see the Front Range silhouetted purple by a stellar sunset. Man, does the stretch around Fort Morgan stink! 

our Buffalo Creek Christmas tree

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Due to technical difficulties and annoying advertising on LiveJournal, I migrated my blog to this new page. For older posts, visit http://snow-king.livejournal.com/.