Hidden Origins

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This blog was born at the very lake I’m about to leave.  Although it’s relaxing, there’s an element of chaos to a family vacation that stirs up creativity.  Tomorrow’s long day of travel back east, however, will mean another day without a post.  Flights leave so early that you barely have time to slither out of bed to the shuttle, and the airport hotspots want your money to connect.  I’d rather maintain radio silence for a day.  That doesn’t mean I won’t keep my eyes open for religion hidden in the interstices of American life.  Since religion and mythology share sleeping quarters, I’m reminded of something I saw up here in the northwest the other day.  While in a local grocery and souvenir shop (for all groceries in this area carry souvenirs) I saw sasquatch dolls.

Such cryptids are unknown to science, of course.  Even if they really exist, their liminal status now places them firmly in the realms of mythology.  Being in the wilderness can be an uncanny experience.  Long accustomed to dwelling in cities and towns, we feel vulnerable out in the open.  Taking walks in the woods might just put you in the path of black bears, grizzlies, or mountain lions.  Who knows what else might be hiding in these woods?  It’s easy to believe in our myths here.  Vacation, in addition to being the ultimate reality, counts as time borrowed against work and its punishing rationality.  Religion thrives in the quiet moments when you’re not sure what might be hiding just out of view.

Did ancient people devise belief in such circumstances as this?  (Well, without the wifi and indoor plumbing, of course.)  It’s not hard to feel the spirit of the lake.  Standing chest-deep in the water, being rolled by the waves, there’s a kind of secular baptism taking place.  In the quiet unearthly voices can be heard.  No television or newspaper tells you that it can’t be happening.  Listening is much easier with no distractions.  These woods are vast.  Human access to them is limited to marked and maintained trails.  Beyond these borders, who knows?  Science comforts us with the assurance that there are no monsters out there.  Standing isolated from any other human beings, surrounded by ancient trees, you might begin to wonder if such assurance is as certain as it sounds.  The sasquatches are children’s toys, and the sense of the numinous you feel can, like all extraordinary things, be explained away.

Lions, Bears, and Caribou

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The place I’ve been spending this week is the habitat of grizzly bears, caribou, and mountain lions, none of which I’ve ever seen here.  Two of these species view us as potential, if troublesome, prey.  In actuality, even here in the wilderness we’ve made the human presence felt and wildlife sightings are somewhat rare.  I saw more deer in New Jersey than I’ve ever seen here.  Kind of makes you wonder about the human reputation among other creatures.  We like to look at them in zoos, but we don’t see them in their natural surroundings.  I like to think that it’s because they have so much space out here to wander—we see plenty of evidence of moose, for example, without an antler or dewlap making an appearance.

The environment, as created in our won image, has become somewhat sterile.  Kind of the angry, old white man’s view of government.  One color is all you need.  Variety is too challenging, and threatening.  We’ve driven the wolves to extinction around here, so you won’t see any of those.  Won’t hear their plaintive howls on a moonlit night.  You’ll see motorboats aplenty, and cars with fancy technology, and airplanes buzzing overhead.  This will have to do for wilderness, since other places are fast developing into surveillance states to protect the rich men’s money.  Wilderness means nothing to such people, unless it can be exploited for personal gain.  The thing is, once it’s gone for them, it’s gone for us all.  I found a sardine tin shining like silver in the silt on the bottom of our lake.  Our fingerprints are everywhere.

The problem isn’t new.  Even some monks in late antiquity found that when they headed into the desert for heroic feats of spirituality, they were followed by the curious.  Crowds would sometimes gather to watch them being holy.  Would that break a saint’s concentration?  Do I even need to ask?  The forest service asks us to stay on the trails.  The trails are well trod.  Out of sight, but never far from mind are the bears and cougars.  We’ve driven them out of our path and then congratulate ourselves on becoming the top predators.  Once the beasts are gone we turn our instincts on our fellow humans.  To flush them out into the open we must tame their wildness. And when it’s all gone the only rule will be, in this distorted vision, that of rich white men.  An angry grizzly bear would be far more congenial.