Midlife Meditation

Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees, takes off his shoes, The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries, And daub their natural faces unaware More and more, from the first similitude. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book VII My father was a poet, from a family of poets. His generation of Andersons wrote many things in verse. At holidays and birthdays, gifts were usually accompanied with a bit of verse, written especially for the occasion and recited by the giver before unwrapping could commence. In my memory, these poems had an archaic quality to them, sounding very turn-of-the-twentieth-century; but it was the principle, more than the form, that mattered: giving thought to the significance of an event, a gift, a holiday, then translating that significance into couplets. However profound or mundane their own attempts at poetry might be, the Andersons appreciated the poetry of others. My father’s ...

Faith is an island in the setting sun...proof is the bottom line for everyone. --Paul Simon, "Proof" In the past four years, Amy has seen, touched, heard, felt so many things she never knew were real. And so have I. There are things in heaven and earth that can only be dreamt of until they are experienced firsthand. Images, recordings, descriptions, artifacts can only hint at the thing in its fullness. Even once in its presence, one must be open to it, receptive to its essence, for it to permeate one's perception and alter one's being. I first visited the Craters of the Moon National Monument in 1970. I was nine years old. I found much to appreciate about it, but only at a superficial level. We passed through this volcanic blast zone many times during our years in Idaho. It was convenient and cheap, two essential criteria for us in our perpetually strapped condition. I quickly tired of it; it was not, after all, really the moon, but something wholly other, so...

It came out of the green. By that, I mean we were climbing up a slippery, ridiculously steep trail through the dewy trees on the south face of Dog Mountain when Amy popped the question: "Do you want to get mountain married?" It took me completely by surprise. We'd been together for three years at this time, and we were both extremely marriage-averse, for reasons I'll explain (but not in too much detail) later in this post. We were engaged in one of our favorite things to do together, something we'd done on our second date, and as often as we could ever since: hiking. Of all the things we enjoy together, this is the one that probably brought us closest, and has most cemented our relationship. We've been up every significant trail in the Columbia River Gorge, as well as trails in the Coast Range, the Cascades, and Utah. This summer we'll be backpacking, most likely in the Olympic National Park, possibly somewhere else, as well. In two days, to celebrate ...