Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Products of a Sunday afternoon rambling at Spider House!

85 degrees and cloudless, under the patio's leafed-out pecan tree. It has been SO LONG since I baked in the sun. My spirits themselves are leafing out; the sun is beaming and I beam back.

On the bus ride down here I saw dozens of people spilling out from the baptist church on Speedway. I am by no means a member of any scripted religion; at least not one which involves indoor services, has a name, and is practiced across the globe by millions of other people.

The spires of my steeples are the candy-brittle peaks on Glacier's eastern front; Mt Gould presiding over Jealous Woman's (Swiftcurrent) Lake.

I want to do some studying, I've just now decided. I want to learn the proper names of locations around the park in MT. Names with stories and significance. It's a tragedy and it's blasphemous that these ancient mountains are called by names of various white men who 'discovered' them, or in some cases white men who hadn't even visited the area!
Considering ol' whitey from that era (and this one too, using that term as a metaphor), he is just an impotent, greedy, bossy, bratty child. With money made of paper and with an army and his bureaucracy, with words like 'civilized,' and with pamphlets and editions coming out all the time, dictating and manipulating, This is how people are supposed to live. This makes a life. I am disappointed in people in general when I go too far down this thought-track... Redirect! It's a beautiful day!

Back to the topic of church, I did match my cynicism earlier with a proper reverence and even a fleeting sensation of warmth. I will always recollect with fondness afternoons at the old Swoope house in VA - being a little, little girl coming home with mom + dad after church at Hebron Presbyterian. Fleeting images of Mom's old early '90s pumps, her big hair and her jewelry all over her dresser, my tiny feet in shiny black Mary Janes, Mom helping me into my tights, kneeling before me ready to catch my 'piggies' in them.

I think there is a sweetness in church, even if I totally disagree with religion as an institution. It's sweet for people to congregate and be reverent toward whatever greater power. Where's my church of philosophy? I am always grateful for life; I guess I pray every day, in my thoughts as I give thanks. I ask much, if anything, of the universe - I just think thanks. Being here and healthy is more than enough.

How could one ever just pray and ask for things? It's boggling my mind to consider that when people pray, it's often just with a long list of demands! "Dear god, I want this + this + this + this, and make everyone I know healthy."

Many prayers begin with "Thank you for this day," and then they circle the drain with the long list of expectations. Sheesh. If you're fed and quenched and sheltered, only offer love and thanks in return for the graciousness shone upon you by The Great Whatever.


Seems so many people are preoccupied. Wants and perceived needs make people disregard what blessings they already have, make them seem a given. It could all stop at any moment. Walk more slowly and with care while the world is cradling you, baby. Be gracious and kind and ask for nothing but always give thanks.

Being appreciative feels good and since I have started to focus on it, it's unstoppable. I'm compelled to notice things more than ever before. It is a part of the adult woman showing herself in my persona. I am on the edge of my self and I am thankful for the ways I develop.

This is my Sunday service - not from a pew with mournful voices all around, but in the face of the sun itself and with a jubilant internal orchestra.

-------     I took a break from writing to read more Muir, and very quickly in my book I came upon this amazing quote, so relevant!

"No wonder the hills and groves were God's first temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself."




I will be on Glacier's eastern edge in two months, and in three months I'll have been there one month, and in six months I'll have been there four months, and in seven months I don't know where I'll be, or who I'll have become, or what changes will have shaped my mind. . . . . and thank god!



   





   Yours truly @ Many Glacier, 2005, first GNP visit with Mom.

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