Crescent City

A peaceful day in the Redwood Forest, absolutely.

As our cars inched their way amidst the sea of gigantic redwood trees, I could not help but feel a sense of refreshment, some semblance of natural serenity.

The mind I possess can not let me own this moment without some ounce of analysis. Yes, the 19th century poets, the Walt Whitmans, painted a poetic picture of nature as a place to return to the self and to gain insight, peace, and wisdom. Romantic and true in some points.

At the same time, some one years ago decided to mark off this certain area as a national park, build these roads, these trails, through their own forest to let me have access to these trees, and these perceived slices of solitude.

In an organizational manner, the poets and the state have unknowingly worked together to create and facilitate these places – dare I say, opiates – of society.

I’m fighting my cynicism and learning to know that I, growing up a mere thirty-minute drive from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, thoroughly enjoy these natural places to go – for bonding with a friend or a relative, for learning more about myself, or for romantic getaways with a girlfriend. Yes, these experiences are packaged, in different colors and with different bows than Vegas and Disneyland, but my [our] humanity is no less in tact. There’s really no way to escape this consumer society we find ourselves in, even at the places that meant for us to escape it.

So, the question is: do we decide to completely withdraw from this society, or do we decide to tailor this already-forward-moving consumption machine to create some different, more spiritual, transcendent, and emotive spaces? As enticing as the former option seems to me (and to a lot of cults), the most practical, possibly the most meaningful option is the latter: to change a system, one must become a part of that system. The middle ground of postmodern conversation, favored by Habermas, seems to be the best table where we can sit.

The world does not need another hippie living in a tree, yelling at politicians, to promote ecological responsibility. The world does not need another talking head, whether on Fox News or MSNBC, spouting propagandist bullshit about the war in Iraq, Proposition 8, or the Presidency. The only people affected by these speakers seem to be the ones who already agree with them in the first place: the talking head, the politician, the pastor, the hippie, the student.

So, what do we need? My answer is someone to revamp some of the systems. How Jesus exposed the hypocrisy of rabbis in Judaism let the new President shed light not only on the endorsements, awards, and bright records of those in his office, but also their lies, inadequacies, and privileging…. A Christian, like Donald Miller, to apologize for the Crusades, for the holy wars of politics, and for not showing true love to the homosexual community.

As the sun was setting in Crescent City, a burnt orange tinged my eyes and painted my clothes while I bathed in heavy wind. Atop a rock face, with a great friend at my side, I turned into a mountain goat for a number of minutes and hopped around from rock to rock, in ecstasy of the environment, the moment, and the breeze.

Perhaps G-d speaks through the wind, only to say nothing audibly but give you a feeling that life is something to cherish, to embrace, and to contemplate. The wonder in itself is enough for me to be content.

Ecstasy. Thought. Prayer. All from the Wind.