Perhaps, just perhaps, you’ve heard it said that “everything is big in Texas.” And probably you don’t doubt it. I didn’t.
Nonetheless, seeing it with my own eyes is completely astounding. The stretches of deserts, the endless monotony of road-kill-spotted two-land roads, and the infinity of strip malls defies plausibility. Can there really be enough people to shop in all these malls? To sleep in all these hotels? To eat at all these restaurants? The sheer number of Red Lobsters, Olive Gardens, TGI Fridays, etc . (not to mention the McDonalds) alongside the 80 miles between San Antonio and Austin is simply absurd. And the patriotism, too, fits the stereotype. Every American flag (and they’re everywhere) waves alongside the Lone Star banner. The Little Control signs on the highway read “Don’t Mess with Texas.” This place, for better or worse, has a culture of its own – one of pride, of excess, of down-home barbecue and 4-wheel-drive cars.
I write this from Houston, a few blocks from Bush Senior’s home, near Rice University and a hospital center that could be a city unto its own. We’ve been here for 2 days after stopping briefly in Austin and spending a night in San Antonio. After a 12.5 hour drive from Lamar, CO (during which the only “point of interest” was watching a bird get decapitated by the car in front of us), we arrived in San Antonio. We were tired and our legs were cramped. We stretched then with a walk along the River Walk, a winding path that runs along the river in downtown San Antonio. The stroll is beautiful. The sidewalk reaches right up to the narrow stream where boats ride back and forth and waterfalls are built here and there into the sidewalk. Lush trees hang overhead and the restaurant and pub options are abundant. We stopped for some margaritas and laughed at the intoxicated people who stumbled around us in high heels. We arrived back in to our corner hotel room around 1:30AM after a late-night snack of pizza.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 05, 2009
Yom Kippur in a synagogue never felt quite right to me. When the rabbi's sermon waxes too political, I get all riled up. I get frustrated at the incessant chatter of the "twice-a-yearers" and feel disgusted at my own self-righteousness in the synagogue. (as if I am such loyal attendee) But mostly, I've spent many a Yom Kippur feeling, quite simply, bored. Looking at the watch, awaiting the minutes that won't pass, counting the pages remaining while praying guiltily for another year of life - and a faster passage of time until the break-fast.
Given all this, I felt that a serious change had to be made. If Yom Kippur is meant to be a time of spirituality and soul searching, I knew I had to go a place where I feel in awe of a holy presence, where my wonderment at the world is kindled, where my gratitude for life and its marvelousness is ablaze.
I went to Yosemite.
Yom Kippur, among other things - is about humility, about a bit of suffering and a lot of reflection. For me, the wilderness offers opportunities for all of these things. I am humbled by the grand scale of stars and mountains, the symbiotic patterns between pine cone and squirrel, fire and foliage. This year, my "suffering" came less from hunger and more from the miles of hiking, the pushing onwards up hill, in the dark, the overcoming of my fears - of being lost, encountering bears, or taking a fatal misstep. And as far as reflection is concerned... the lack of distraction, the stimulus of the natural beauty and my sheer state of bliss while in nature all helped me to wax far more spiritual than I ever could in synagogue.
****
At around three in the afternoon on the eve of the Day of Atonement, Ori and I set out for the most famous of hikes in Yosemite - the Half Dome. We intended to hike about 2/3 of the way up and camp - finishing the last 2 miles in the morning. We knew very little about the hike before we left. As we set out, a returning hiker mentioned something about needing gloves. We shrugged the suggestion off (we didn't have gloves anyway) and continued on. We stopped at ??? and then Nevada Falls, working our way up an endless set of stone staircases as most of the tourists were coming down. About 4-4.5 miles down trail from Half Dome, we cooked up a pre-fast meal of pasta and tuna, just in time to beat the setting sun and the stars eagerly waiting to emerge. During the meal, Ori made a bold and brilliant suggestion :
Let's just hike all the way up tonight!
It was perfect. We would have the popular trail all to ourselves. Fueled by our big meal and the magnitude of the holy day, we would fair far better than we would in the morning. Gleefully, and fresh-spirited, we headed on up. The crowds of hikers had thinned down to a trickle and the moon lit our way (mostly)the. We walked slowly, searching for sandy footprints to mark the path. After over an hour, we worried we had lost our way, but at last came to signs marking a fork in the road: "2 miles to Half Dome." We set ourselves up a fine looking campsite and strapped on a day pack of water and emergency supplies. 2 miles to go. Time: around midnight. Energy: High. Mood: Scared, eager, spirited.
The first mile of the hike continued to weave through the woods. To fend off bearsM we sang, desperately trying to come up with something better than a national anthem, "American Pie" or "The Other Day I Met a Bear." We wondered at times if we were going in the right direction - much of the time Half Dome was not visible even with the moonlight. At last, the trees began to thin out and the monolith set a crisp sillouhette before us. It looked so far away. The stars were outstanding, shooting in abundance with constellations harder to pick out given the multitude of glistening lights in the sky. The evening was immensely intense, awesomely beautiful - truly holy.
We reached a sign that spoke of the "Sub Dome" and the trees seceded leaving only rock face. We had no idea what the Sub Dome was but we headed up it, pushing on toward the behemoth Half Dome up ahead. Along the way up, we didn't run in to any bears or people, but we were creeped out quite a bit when we came across 2 pairs of hiking boots (empty) and a raincoat. Despite our singing and calls of "hello," we met no one. Someone who hiked the trail the next morning said the shoes were still there. I tried to push aside thoughts of "The Half Dome Killer" and focused my energy on going upward. The trail was hard to follow - if it existed at all - so we simply scrambled up the rock the best we could. At the base of the Half Dome itself, we found the infamous cables.
A pile of gloves was strewn beside the cables. We put them on and begin our way up. The slope was steep and sleek. Looking upward, I saw only rock and stars. I had no way to gauge the length of the climb - we had found THE stairway to heaven. Ori would ask me from behind if the end was close, but I had no idea. We stopped, with difficulty, to take a break. My arms ached a bit from pulling myself up between the cables and my feet offered little assurance on the steep rock face. The break was brief and we pushed onward. (Only a few days later did we learn that the cables are 150 meters long). At the top, we climbed a bit more to the edge of the dome and reveled in our success. It was around 2am I would guess and the moon had set. The only light came from the stars; I dared not look below at the abyss beyond the cliff.
Shaking from exhaustion and the intensity of it all, I allowed myself a snack for energy. Less strict fasting in exchange for much more spirituality - not to mention the very safety of my life. I am okay with this.
The way down the cables felt just as long and I couldn't see behind me to anticipate cracks in the rock. Ori would warn me and I would feel my way down after him. We turned on our head lamps to alight the blackness of the now moonless forest. At one point, I was terrified by the sight of three sets of sparkling eyes only a few dozen feet away from us. I pointed them out to Ori and we both silently prayed they weren't bears. They were deer and we terrified them with our fear - singing and ringing our bear balls until they skitted off jolted and confused into the woods.
Around 4am, we reached our campsite and settled in for a deep, welcome sleep. The next day, we hiked down only a few miles and relaxed beside a river on a sandy bank. I said some of the traditional Yom Kippur prayers and we fasted, heading to a new campsite in the late evening. As I said the closing prayers of the day, the lights receding and the moon appearing as I did so. With a view of Half Dome to my right and a waterfall below me, I was focused and awe-filled as I did the "ne-ilah" service. When at last we spotted three stars in the sky, we broke our fast with a wholesome meal - beef jerkey and chili. (what else?)
Given all this, I felt that a serious change had to be made. If Yom Kippur is meant to be a time of spirituality and soul searching, I knew I had to go a place where I feel in awe of a holy presence, where my wonderment at the world is kindled, where my gratitude for life and its marvelousness is ablaze.
I went to Yosemite.
Yom Kippur, among other things - is about humility, about a bit of suffering and a lot of reflection. For me, the wilderness offers opportunities for all of these things. I am humbled by the grand scale of stars and mountains, the symbiotic patterns between pine cone and squirrel, fire and foliage. This year, my "suffering" came less from hunger and more from the miles of hiking, the pushing onwards up hill, in the dark, the overcoming of my fears - of being lost, encountering bears, or taking a fatal misstep. And as far as reflection is concerned... the lack of distraction, the stimulus of the natural beauty and my sheer state of bliss while in nature all helped me to wax far more spiritual than I ever could in synagogue.
****
At around three in the afternoon on the eve of the Day of Atonement, Ori and I set out for the most famous of hikes in Yosemite - the Half Dome. We intended to hike about 2/3 of the way up and camp - finishing the last 2 miles in the morning. We knew very little about the hike before we left. As we set out, a returning hiker mentioned something about needing gloves. We shrugged the suggestion off (we didn't have gloves anyway) and continued on. We stopped at ??? and then Nevada Falls, working our way up an endless set of stone staircases as most of the tourists were coming down. About 4-4.5 miles down trail from Half Dome, we cooked up a pre-fast meal of pasta and tuna, just in time to beat the setting sun and the stars eagerly waiting to emerge. During the meal, Ori made a bold and brilliant suggestion :
Let's just hike all the way up tonight!
It was perfect. We would have the popular trail all to ourselves. Fueled by our big meal and the magnitude of the holy day, we would fair far better than we would in the morning. Gleefully, and fresh-spirited, we headed on up. The crowds of hikers had thinned down to a trickle and the moon lit our way (mostly)the. We walked slowly, searching for sandy footprints to mark the path. After over an hour, we worried we had lost our way, but at last came to signs marking a fork in the road: "2 miles to Half Dome." We set ourselves up a fine looking campsite and strapped on a day pack of water and emergency supplies. 2 miles to go. Time: around midnight. Energy: High. Mood: Scared, eager, spirited.
The first mile of the hike continued to weave through the woods. To fend off bearsM we sang, desperately trying to come up with something better than a national anthem, "American Pie" or "The Other Day I Met a Bear." We wondered at times if we were going in the right direction - much of the time Half Dome was not visible even with the moonlight. At last, the trees began to thin out and the monolith set a crisp sillouhette before us. It looked so far away. The stars were outstanding, shooting in abundance with constellations harder to pick out given the multitude of glistening lights in the sky. The evening was immensely intense, awesomely beautiful - truly holy.
We reached a sign that spoke of the "Sub Dome" and the trees seceded leaving only rock face. We had no idea what the Sub Dome was but we headed up it, pushing on toward the behemoth Half Dome up ahead. Along the way up, we didn't run in to any bears or people, but we were creeped out quite a bit when we came across 2 pairs of hiking boots (empty) and a raincoat. Despite our singing and calls of "hello," we met no one. Someone who hiked the trail the next morning said the shoes were still there. I tried to push aside thoughts of "The Half Dome Killer" and focused my energy on going upward. The trail was hard to follow - if it existed at all - so we simply scrambled up the rock the best we could. At the base of the Half Dome itself, we found the infamous cables.
A pile of gloves was strewn beside the cables. We put them on and begin our way up. The slope was steep and sleek. Looking upward, I saw only rock and stars. I had no way to gauge the length of the climb - we had found THE stairway to heaven. Ori would ask me from behind if the end was close, but I had no idea. We stopped, with difficulty, to take a break. My arms ached a bit from pulling myself up between the cables and my feet offered little assurance on the steep rock face. The break was brief and we pushed onward. (Only a few days later did we learn that the cables are 150 meters long). At the top, we climbed a bit more to the edge of the dome and reveled in our success. It was around 2am I would guess and the moon had set. The only light came from the stars; I dared not look below at the abyss beyond the cliff.
Shaking from exhaustion and the intensity of it all, I allowed myself a snack for energy. Less strict fasting in exchange for much more spirituality - not to mention the very safety of my life. I am okay with this.
The way down the cables felt just as long and I couldn't see behind me to anticipate cracks in the rock. Ori would warn me and I would feel my way down after him. We turned on our head lamps to alight the blackness of the now moonless forest. At one point, I was terrified by the sight of three sets of sparkling eyes only a few dozen feet away from us. I pointed them out to Ori and we both silently prayed they weren't bears. They were deer and we terrified them with our fear - singing and ringing our bear balls until they skitted off jolted and confused into the woods.
Around 4am, we reached our campsite and settled in for a deep, welcome sleep. The next day, we hiked down only a few miles and relaxed beside a river on a sandy bank. I said some of the traditional Yom Kippur prayers and we fasted, heading to a new campsite in the late evening. As I said the closing prayers of the day, the lights receding and the moon appearing as I did so. With a view of Half Dome to my right and a waterfall below me, I was focused and awe-filled as I did the "ne-ilah" service. When at last we spotted three stars in the sky, we broke our fast with a wholesome meal - beef jerkey and chili. (what else?)
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