Faith and Nature

Sometimes the signs along the journey of life leave room for interpretation. Here’s a trail marker which normally points to the direction for hikers, but it has come off of it’s anchor and my daughter Amy has it pointing in a new direction. A reminder that perhaps one greater than us is at work here, but I’d prefer to feel the presence of the creator through the creation rather than the clouds. We found this sign along a trail on Ring Mountain,  a small nature preserve on the Tiburon peninsula.  What makes Ring Mountain special in my mind is that you can feel a sense of peace and solitude in nature while being surrounded by the bustling urban life of the Bay Area. From the top you have a view of San Francisco to the North, Mount Tamalpais to the South, and Mount Diablo to the Southeast.  The soils of Ring Mountain also make the location unique.  Rocks such as blue schist and green schist, and serpentine, discourage many of the local native plants and give rise to some unique plants such as the Tiburon Mariposa Lily which is only found in this preserve. Since we would occasionally visit the preserve on family hikes when our kids were small it’s fun to come back and reminisce about visiting the preserve in years past. More photos of the preserve are available here.

At a recent meeting with a group of friends the concept of wabi-sabi came up. I was fascinated with the idea that one can celebrate what’s imperfect. After all, don’t we want things to be prefect, finished, and complete? What if we can actually live with the idea that things are perfect as they are, incomplete, broken, or in process. A quick Google search let me to more information about wabi-sabi, the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection. Author Robyn Griggs Lawrence has written about wabi-sabi, with a book, The Wabi-Sabi House.

The day after Thanksgiving found us hiking on Angel Island. It was a blustery day, with the threat of rain showers as dark clouds drifted by the island. We felt a few drops but were spared the rain. We hiked the North Ridge trail to the top of the Island, Mount Livermore, which gives one a 360 degree panoramic view of the Bay Area. Angel Island is an island of peace and solitude surrounded by cities, San Francisco to the Southwest, Oakland and Berkeley to the East, Sausalito and Tiburon to the Northwest. We hiked through ferns and mossy oak woodlands on the Ridge Trail, returning through chaparral and the recent burn on the Sunset Trail. It was a good way to work of some of the extra calories from Thursday’s feast. It was also good to be reminded that one doesn’t have to travel far to find peace and solitude in the busy Bay Area. You can view more photos here.

With the Bay Bridge out of commission we opted for alternative means of transportation to make our way to Hunters Point today where a friend of ours was holding an open studio, along with hundreds of other artists. Here’s a photo of painter Carol Aust, Larry Hatfield and my wife Joann with one of Carol’s paintings. The painting shows two people on opposite sides of a chasm. I thought this was symbolic given the fact that the Bay Bridge is out, and we found alternate means across the chasm. Normally with three of us heading to San Francisco we would hop in the car and drive, but our mode of transportation today was BART to San Francisco where we picked up a City Car Share car to drive the short distance from  the Glen Park BART station to Hunter’s Point.  Traveling by train seems much more relaxing than driving and it’s more conducive to conversation, although sometimes the screech of the trains makes conversation difficult. Hunter’s Point is an old naval shipyard with some of the facilities now serving as artists studios.  I took a series of photos along the way. You can click here to re-enact our trip.

There’s a blustery fall wind blowing today, and wispy clouds, with a sense of foreboding. Change is in the air. Sycamore leaves reel down the street doing cartwheels driven by the wind, and the Chinese Pistache trees are turning color. Here’s an image taken while walking I was out walking the dog a couple or days ago.  There are two trees that catch the later afternoon sun and look ablaze.

As I walk up a neighboring street I see pumpkins on front porches. The apples on my apple tree are just about all picked. They’ve been sliced and dried or cooked and frozen to enjoy as savory hot apple sauce on a cold winter’s day. Fall is about change, and the coming adversity of winter. I found this quote from Arthur Golden

Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.

People all over the world today are demonstrating as part of the International Day of Climate Action. You can follow many of the activities at 350.org. In thinking about climate change I was reminiscing about my own involvement in climate research and thought it might be fun to post a few photos I took some thirty years ago when I was working in the field of oceanography.  The photo you see here was taken in 1979 somewhere near the equator between Hawaii and Tahiti as part of an oceanographic expedition called FGGE, an acronym for the First GARP Global Experiment, GARP being an acronym for Global Atmospheric Research Project. You can find additional related images here.

The Nature Conservancy turns 58 today, having incorporated on this day in 1951. I’ve been involved with TNC for over 20 years, helping organize and lead tours of some of the preserves, and then providing photographs to help with fund raising and promotion of some of the projects. One of my favorite TNC projects is The Carrizo Plain. This is a broad expanse of land on a plateau between the Caliente and Temblor ranges.  It’s notable because it comes close to representing what the Central Valley looked like before irrigation and farming. In the spring time it becomes a carpet of wildflowers, and a sense of exapansive open space. When I first visited the Carrizo in 1987 or so, it was the domain of barb wire, Peruvian sheepherders, and a few staunch coservationists and researchers. It is now a National Monument with hiking trails, an interpretive center, the Guy Goodwin Center.

Where does  one find sacred spaces? Do you have to travel to some awe inspring location, or are there sacred places closer to your heart?  Does the grandeur of Yosemite Valley inspire a sense of sacred?  How about the lofty vastness of a cathedral or a mosque?  What about more mundane places?

I met recently with a friend of mine, a dancer with whom I am  collaborating on a dance and photography project, you can see some examples of the kind of work we’ll be creating here. We come from different cultures and religious traditions but we seem to share a common ground when it comes to understanding faith.

We stumbled onto a discussion of spirituality and sacredness. I found myself asking the question “what if everything around us is sacred, the coffee cups from which we were drinking, the table, and even our words?” What if even the profane words we speak are sacred?

What about socks hanging on the close line? I’m reminded about a the Carmelite Monk, brother Lawrence who is celebrated for his thoughts in a book Practicing the Presence of God.

I walk before God simply, in faith, with humility and with love; and I apply myself diligently to do nothing and think nothing which may displease Him.”

He was known for his profound peace and many came to seek spiritual guidance from him.

So what would happen if we treated everything as sacred? Would we be more mindful of the words that come out of our mouths? Would we treat our fellow human beings with more respect and dignity? Would we have more respect for the resources we extract from the planet? What do you think?

So once again I find myself on the water, contemplating the peace and solitude of Tomales Bay on a beautiful weekend. We loaded the boat with camping gear and paddled from Nicks Cove to our favorite camping spot at Pelican North Beach, set up camp, and with paddled up the Peninsula, out the entrance to the bay and out to Tomales Point, where the calm of the bay gave way to the ocean swells which were rolling under us.  I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes about boating, from Kenneth Grahame and his book The Wind in the Willows

Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing- absolutely nothing- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.

When we turned around to paddle back into the Bay we discovered that some of the swells were starting to feel bottom on rising rather steeply. We had a rather thrilling ride down one wave, which was starting to break on both sides of the boat.  I had a strong and fearsome sense that I was not in control, that all I could do was guide the boat and let the forces of nature carry me along.  Sometime I think I could live with a stronger sense of grace if I could apply that to other areas of my life. Admit that I am powerless, that there is a power greater than me to which I must submit.  And to let that power carry me along, rather than try to assert my own agenda.

Click here to view more paddling photos.

I slide my paddle into the calm water, rotate my torso and the boat moves forward, gliding silently.  Not a sound. The fog is starting to clear. Or is it? There are four of us in three boats. We’ll paddle down the Estero to Drake’s beach where’s well have lunch and watch the wildlife. You can view more photos on Photoshelter or Flickr.

I equate kayaking with hiking. It’s like taking a hike on the water, except your legs don’t move much. In a sense, you wear a kayak, it becomes an extension of your body, or at least that’s the case in a single kayak, the two companions in the double have a different experience, but in either case we cover the distance to the beach with ease.  We keep looking for the beach to appear through the fog. The fog lifts a bit and I think I see the beach, or is it just the next bluff? And there, those birds must be on the beach, but no that’s just a sandbar.  Like much in life, we have to be diligent about maintaining our sense of direction, and proceed with patience and diligence. And I ran across this quote recently that I thought was appropriate.

And so in time the rowboat and I became one and the same–like the archer and his bow or the artist and his paint. What I learned wasn’t mastery over the elements; it was mastery over myself; which is what conquest is ultimately all about.

by Richard Bode