Ten Sleep Canyon
MV Conversation Continues
Glacier National Park Bicycle Trip
"Like it or not, we are soul brothers," replied MV, "Lighten up! I
can be useful, if you let me."
"Ok, enlighten me. What do I need to know?"
"You need to know," said MV, "that people in motor homes are further
along on their path than you are on yours. While worshiping at the
altar of certainty and success, disappointment is, for a fortunate
few, an infrequent and fleeting experience."
"How can that be?" I said.
"Well, for starters, money buys pleasure," replied MV, "and nature
gives pleasure. If you can enjoy nature while living in luxury then
you are one of the lucky ones. The person sitting behind the wheel of
the motor home you know, wouldn't be caught dead sitting on that piece
of crap you call a bicycle seat."
"So tell me something I don't know," I said.
"Be patient. In due time you will understand," MV replied. "It's good
that nature is beautiful, but that's not the whole of it. Out of it
livelihoods are carved; that is, if you're lucky. Natural beauty is
only a perk; business and finance are nature's real assets. Go ask one
of those guys driving a motor home if you don't believe me! Owning a
$50,000 house on wheels, and driving down a mountain road is almost as
good as it gets; those people have it all."
"Are you saying that I can't enjoy nature unless I'm rich?"
"You tell me," responded MV. "Who's the one who is wet and miserable,
surely not the motor home guy, and, if you want proof, just ask to see
his photographs. He will be more than happy to show you if you have
the time. It's all about consumption you know."
"What's that suppose to mean?" I said.
"In today's world," MV replied, "life means didly squat unless lots
of consumption goes with it. In fact, if you don't consume, you
alienate yourself. You are not fond of looking in the mirror. Did you
ever ask yourself why? Could it be that depression, loneliness, or
something even worse looks back at you. Just accept it, Earth is
nothing more than a word for `not yet ready for consumption.'"
"I've heard that bullshit before," I said, "and the land gets raped,
the water fouled, and the air polluted, and what for--to deny
inheritance to the next generation? Instead of a future to look
forward to, our children's children get filth, defilement, and
ugliness. It's criminal! Whatever happened to conscience,
responsibility, and that almost forgotten word, conservation?"
"Why fight it? You're only going to make yourself sick," said MV. "To
live good means to consume more, and to live best means to consume the
best. Get over it!"
"But what about social responsibility and justice?" I responded.
"What about conservation and conscience, do they have any role at all
to play?"
"Get serious," MV replied, "that's all lip service! The wheels of
progress are greased with capital, and lots of it. Without it
prosperity stops."
"And the suffering," I said, "people still suffer you know. Why does
wealth have to be concentrated? Why can't it be distributed so as to
create decent living standards for all?"
"Suck it up my friend, that's just the way the system works," said
MV. "Sure, you could eliminate suffering—not all, buts lots-- if that
were the goal, but open your eyes and smell the coffee--the goal is to
eliminate your own suffering. More is always better. Come on; admit it!"
"No," I replied. "If I did, I would be saying `yes' to what is not
right. Inequalities cause suffering and reason could fix that. It is
wrong to say `yes' to biologically destructive, spiritually
desiccated, consumer society. I won't do it. It's disgusting. You're
disgusting. Why did you even come back? Do you call this helping me?"
"Maybe," said MV, "so tell me, what exactly happened to you while
coming down that mountain in the Big Horns?"
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed. "What does that have to do with
anything?"
"Have you forgotten?" said MV. "Humor me. What do you think happened
to you on your way down that mountain?"
"I don't know," I said, "It was like I stopped being me and became
something else, something wonderful and strange."
"Was it a `feeling,' or a `knowing' experience?"
"I guess it was both," I said.
"Was it worth it?" exclaimed MV.
"What do you mean was it worth it?" I replied. "Worth what? It was
something that just happened."
"If you believe that you're dumber than I thought," MV responded. "Do
you think those `feelings' and that `knowing' happens to everybody—to
the guy in the Winnebago? Get real! In that one brief moment you
tasted the ineffable, the sublime. In that moment you saw what isn't
seen, touched, tasted—or bought."
"Well, maybe so" I replied. And then it hit me. I felt tingly inside.
I needed to feel that biting wind against my face. I needed to feel
that ache in my exhausted muscles, the anxiety of not knowing where I
would sleep at night. I had to experience hardships in order to
experience communion-- the intimacy of communion that I felt while
coasting down Tensleep Canyon. And further, without those kinds of
challenges, discomforts, and struggles, a sky full of stars, the salty
ocean air, the squish of pine needles under foot, would not turn into
"shake you alive experiences," would not become "hello, I am alive
feelings." What a pity, what a terrible pity that would be. Those
feelings cannot be bought, only be appreciated. They must never go
away. Without them life would not be worth living.
The rain was falling, but I didn't mind. It was less disturbing now.
It was quiet too. Everything was okay. I just kept peddling.
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