Leave No Trace is an excellent program designed to help minimize our impact on our beautiful natural surroundings. They run training for youths to adults, helping to educate them about the need to protect our planet. We especially need to protect it when recreating. They promote seven principles: plan and prepare ahead; travel and camp on durable surfaces; dispose of waste properly; leave what you find; minimize campfire impacts; respect wildlife; be consider to other visitors. These are great principles, and the website gives more in depth explanations.
This summer I've been having quite an adventure. So far I've gone to 8 national parks, several more monuments, and ample viewpoints. I've followed the principles pretty darn well. But I still wonder about the trace I'm leaving. In my pursuit of adventure, I have a relatively large carbon footprint. NYC has certainly helped reduce this given its abundance of public transit. That type of transit simply doesn't exist anywhere else in the US, particularly for folks like me who see a sign and decide to follow it.
Though my immediate visible trace is not large, my long-term detriment to the environment and humanity is not the prettiest. I try to see beautiful and wonderful people and places to encourage stewardship. In my pursuit, however, I leave an impact that I find increasingly difficult to leave no footprint. Tinge of Catholic guilt? Yea, says I!
In comes Ignatian discernment, and I'm still working through it. So I need feedback from you friends--what do I do about my carbon footprint and need to adventure?
Last August I took my vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Thanks to that final one, my superiors sent me to New York City to finish up my undergrad and hopefully do a masters. New York was the one place I asked not to be sent. That's probably why they sent me there.
In the novitiate, my director asked me to contemplate my images of God. I was unsure how to tackle this question, having never given it consideration. Isn't God just kind of...there? Existing? A few images came to me as I prayed, one for each member of the Trinity. Christ is the faces of the poor, the oppressed, the downtrodden. He is them in their moments of weakness and crucifixion. Christ is also the poor in their joy, their love, their Resurrection. Check out this cross from the Creighton Retreat House in Griswold, IA for a good visualization.
The Holy Spirit maintained a bit of that floaty feeling, being very hard to pinpoint. It's kind of as described in Acts of the Apostles--a rushing wind bearing flame. The Holy Spirit always seems more of an action than image for me--inspiring, rushing, guiding, creating. And the Father? God the Father appears to me as landscape. Great open expanses, mountains, plains, forests and rivers inspire my image of God the Father. He is the pure image of wild, untamed and grace-filled beauty.
I discovered on my 8-day retreat that this image has been causing me a bit of trouble this past year. There is no wild in New York City. The John Muir in me screams for boundless wilderness that refuses to be tamed, just as God's love behaves. It refuses containment. Ironically, I contained my image of God in a rather boundless feature. My claustrophobia in New York this past year came from missing part of the Trinity. It was not just the density of people and buildings in New York, but the lack of wild and untamed God-love that I missed. That God-love certainly lives in New York City, though. I need help in transforming my image. I do not turn away or get rid of those old graces and images; but I must also not cling to them. As Jesus tells Mary Mag, "Let go dude--I've gotta ascend to heaven!" (Author's interpretation)
Of all the things St. Ignatius wrote, one of my favorites is the Suscipe, also called the Take Lord (Loyola Press has an excellent reflection on how radical the prayer is). In it, Ignatius offers up everything. Not only his material goods, but his heart, memory, his entire being. All he asks is God's love. In NYC, God is asking me to offer up my image of God and be open to seeing God's love in new and different ways. I have to adventure into the unknown. I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. My urban adventures are in underground subway trains rather than hitchhiking and driving. But I have good company and the consolation that when trundling into the unknown, I've typically ended up in pretty good places.
I leave you with an older poem (June 2011) and this music video. Next time: Leaving No Trace
They jut out from the ground and puncture
the sky. Or perhaps, the ground I imagine
should be there suddenly disappears,
leaving behind alien land. A mountain
goat doe huddles on a ledge with her young
as a bison bull grazes on the plain below.
The sun burns the edge of a plateau as unimagined colors envelope the rest of
the sky. A back-lit hawk sits on an unfelt
breeze, watching for any movement of a meal.
The soil here is too thin, too poor in nutrition
to support anything that doesn't
belong there. When it rains, the land is
unsure what to do. Anything flat explodes
with a dark, lush green. Any rising erodes
away, leaving a constantly transitioning land.
It is a land to be lost in, for the colors
blend, the markers forbid themselves to
be remembered.
But this is where God lives, breathing, begging
to be found. This is where the Holy Spirit whispers to me to open my heart and I release it like the flash flood that races through the buttes.
This is where Christ cries out from the
history of the land and those who should live here who shed lives here. This is where God inflicts my imagination with beauty so fierce, I can never discover it completely
Greetings from Griswold, IA, happy belated Pentecost and happy Ordinary Time. I apologize for the incredibly long absence--academic writing unfortunately takes precedent over leisure writing and the blog has thus sat unattended for some time. But I'm starting some exciting summer adventures. First and foremost is my 8-day retreat. I'm starting it out focusing on the Holy Spirit, which is perfect timing given both Pentecost and the summer adventures ahead.
You may recognize this wonderful dirigible as the Spirit of Adventure from the movie "UP!" In thinking and praying about the upcoming adventures this summer, I realized that I have not looked for the root of my adventuring. This wonderful retreat is affording me that opportunity. So far, I've come up with this poem:
Standing high in Navajo country,
a wind rushes toward me
bearing the whispers of mountains
and the scatterings of pollen.
The pollen searches a place to settle and grow,
but home is a place wind will never know.
For it is a contemplative on mission
to spread its redemptive vision.
It pushes me down from mountain to plains
with the hope of instilling in me the same.
In my last blog post (November!?), I discussed the need for a place to return even amidst the adventures. The poem does not allow for a stationary home. The place to return often resides deep within us. In my liberation theology class this semester, we discussed the transcendence of the Holy Spirit. Transcendence is not floating above, away and apart from. Rather, transcendence is a radical depth. The Spirit becomes transcendent by burrowing into the center of us. The Spirit drives my own spirit of adventure. I am fairly predisposed to adventure, but the Spirit avidly takes hold and directs. I adventure for discovery, love and transcendent depth. They lie deep inside of me and I return there for those treasures of graces.
Who resides deep inside me, not far from my xiphoid process. From there, Who takes control when seen fit, causing my heart to beat like humming bird wings, my mind to move through that I cannot fathom, and my mouth to open for words I cannot control or explain. But I know Who is their origin. Not far from my xiphoid process, Who sneaks into an aorta and immediately spreads throughout me, latching like oxygen to my red blood cells. Driving me forward, never resting like the wind bearing the clouds.
COMING SOON! -- A previously promised piece on urban adventure; some location reviews; and thoughts on balancing environmental stewardship and love of adventure.
