The Holy Road
Poems and Thoughts from our American Odyssey
The Holy Road We drive along the Holy Road, as the Lakota named it, the great westward trail from Missouri to Oregon. Now it is tarmac and gas stations, nothing heroic required to traverse huge vistas of prairie grass just an automobile and desire. Desire to get from one place to another, to move across the landscape rather than be in it, or be shaped by its harshness. It was named the Holy Road because the Lakota peoples felt any trail that exacted such sacrifices of the whites must be sacred. They were a people who knew the price of nomadic life on the plains and tolerated, by treaty, the width of white wagon wheels on the land. Today we, in our turn, desired to make this trip across the West, to feel this exacting landscape and to be an innocence of itinerancy. There is something in the nights on the plains, when we rest from the road, that dreams in me, that reveals a deeper resonance. That these journeys are a counterpart of the journey we want make when we leave this life, that our loved ones will make the ‘long path’ ceremonies for. That these landscapes mirror some other open ranges we have to traverse in order to find the soul’s true west, the milky path though the starlit sky.
Click here for a audio recording of this poem
Part Five
Having spent three fabulous days in the Yellowstone National Park we prepared to leave and head West. Thinking back on our time in this amazing landscape we were feeling deeply grateful; being without air-con and wifi, the slow speed limits and being so close to the natural world helped us access a slower way of being. As we drove away I remembered the things we had done after our picnic with the Bison.
As we left the Lamar Valley we had an amazing close encounter on the road back to Yellowstone Lake Lodge. A large example of the animals we had seen from a distance was in the middle of the road, stopping the traffic and giving us a close up of these incredible beasts. This one reminded me of Mike Tyson in a sheepskin cardigan!
Our second day saw us heading up the western side of the park arriving at Old Faithful, a Geyser that shoots boiling water 50 to 60 feet in the air around once an hour. As we sat on the benches waiting for the eruption we were surveyed by two large Bison, looking for all the word as of they were placed there for the photographic delectation of the tourists. When the tower of water exploded upwards into the big sky it was greeted with rounds of whooping and applause. This really amused Tom, as if it were some act that needed human approbation rather than an awesome example of how small we are in the light of the volcanic powers under the earth upon which we sat.
We then headed off to see the Grand Prismatic a few miles north from Old Faithful. It is created by extremely hot water traveling 121 feet from a crack in the Earth to reach the surface of the spring. This is what the national park website says about it.
The hot spring has bright bands of orange, yellow, and green that ring the deep blue waters in the spring. The multicolored layers get their hues from different species of thermophile (heat-loving) bacteria living in the progressively cooler water around the spring. And the deep blue center? That’s because water scatters the blue wavelengths of light more than others, reflecting blues back to our eyes.
It was stunning and as we stepped along the board walk, stopping every few seconds to take yet another photograph we were increasingly aware of the darkening skies above us.
The thunders were gathering their strength again and we marvelled at the power of this landscape. We left the main pool only to be confronted by a smaller jewel like lake, appropriately named the Opal Pool. As the storm approached Tom caught this photo.
As we hurried back to the car, memory cards filled with incredible images, the words of Sheffield songster - Richard Hawley came to me.
There's a storm Comin'
You'd better run
There's a storm coming
Goodbye to the sun
There's a storm comin'
You'd better
Run boy run,
You'd better run
They were featured in a musical about the city of Sheffield called ‘Standing at the Sky’s Edge.’ As we ran the gauntlet of the torrential rain towards our next stop I thought about the power of landscape to shape us, to pull us into the contours of its reality and to create an inner terrain to match the outer one.
The musical is an example of the way an iconic block of flats (apartments) and the undulant city of Sheffield shaped the lives of three generations. We were now in another landscape that had such an effect on those who were indigenous to it and those who travelled west through it. This storm, at this sky’s edge, seems portentous of the way nature is speaking with increasing power of our peril and asking us to listen.
I once heard a Jungian speaker saying something similar about the unconscious. It tries to get our attention with increasing urgency when there is an issue that needs our conscious consideration. First it sends a text, then an email, then a voicemail, if we ignore it, then finally it sends a letter bomb! It felt on that afternoon that nature was trying give us an audio/visual voicemail. I hope we can listen and not need the letter bomb.
It is not lost on me that we had flown a few thousand miles to get here or that were using gasoline by the gallon to make this pilgrimage. This reminded me of the story of Reb Isaac ben Yakil of Krakow.
There was once an impoverished man by the name of Reb Isaac ben Yakil of Krakow. He lived in poverty for many years, not knowing where his next crust of bread would come from. Still, Reb Isaac had implicit faith that G‑d would not let him starve, and that one day his suffering would end.
One night, he dreamed that there was highly valuable buried treasure under a specific bridge in Prague. At first, he paid the dream no attention, assuming it was mere wishful thinking. After all, who doesn’t dream of riches? But when the dream repeated itself night after night after night, he began to reconsider. Perhaps there was something to it? Could it possibly be true?
So, he set off to Prague—a long and tiring journey, only to discover that the bridge was right near the royal palace and thus heavily guarded at all hours. Soldiers marched up and down, alert and ready, looking for any signs of danger or unusual activity. Digging under the bridge was clearly out of the question. Oh, how disappointing.
But Reb Isaac was not going to give up that easily. He returned to the bridge day after day until the guards began to recognize him. Soon they became curious. “Why do you come to the bridge every day?” one of the guards asked him. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Reb Isaac knew they wouldn’t believe some half-hearted excuse, so he told them about his dream. The guard listened, threw back his head, and laughed heartily. “You came all this way because of a silly dream? You fool! I had a dream that a certain Jew, Reb Isaac Ben Yakil, has buried treasure under his stove, but do you see me going on a wild good chase? Of course not!” and he laughed uproariously.
Meanwhile, Reb Isaac hurried off to buy a ticket for the first train back to Krakow. Now he knew where to look. Sure enough, when he arrived he immediately shoved the iron stove out of the way and began digging at the hard dirt floor. And, to his great joy and astonishment, after some effort he uncovered a chest of gold coins!
He used the money to build a magnificent synagogue which bore his name, and with the rest of the money he built himself a comfortable home and furnished it well.
I hope that our pilgrimage West following a dream bringing us into a dialogue with the dreams of the indigenous Indians and those who went West will enable us to live in a way that treasures our own land and live with a deeper love, care, respect and reparation.
As the storm abated we arrived at the great canyon carved by the Yellowstone River, creating two spectacular waterfalls. We walked the mile down to the viewing platform and were not disappointed. Walking back up I realised that we were at 8000 feet. I had to keep stopping and forcing breath into my 62 year old lungs! We headed to an observation post and the most incredible views. Here is Tom risking life and limb for a shot.
As we drove back to the cabin I reflected with a little disappointment that we had seen neither Wolves nor Bears and we were leaving in the morning. So, now, as we headed out of the Park I again expressed my sadness to Tom.
We headed around the Lake and saw evidence of old forest fires, probably 5-7 years ago and felt amazed at how the trees and undergrowth had been rejuvenated. We left the Yellowstone National Park and then entered the Grand Teton National Park. A spectacular40 mile long mountain range with the highest peak being nearly 14000 feet. We travelled along the side of the huge Jackson Lake, stopping to take photos of the incredible vista.
The area had a kind of clean and washed feeling. As if there had been a wonderful rainstorm and everything was fresh and now shimmering in the sunlight. Everywhere you looked your eye fell upon beauty. It felt like a fitting farewell to the grandeur of the National Parks and with a sense of sadness we headed out of the Park towards the town of Jackson. Suddenly in front of us I noticed a jumble of cars, jackknifed across the road and I commented to Tom ‘what on earth is going on here?’ He pointed into the gap between two cars and said ‘look Dad’. There, right in the middle of the Road was a full size, living and breathing Grizzly Bear. It ambled past us all, heading into brush on the other side of the road. Tom fumbled for his camera as I watched starstruck.
Power and wildness right there in front of us. I was silent for a while as we drove on contemplating with gratitude that we had been visited in this way and trying to hold in my mind and body that sensation that this animal had engendered in me. In Elizabeth Caspari’s great book Animal Life in Nature, Myth and Dreams she says this about Bears
Given its power, the bear's capacity to tear and shred is often a symbol of madness. The word "berserk," which etymologically means "bear shirt," originally referred to the reckless, almost unchecked battle fury of certain Norse warriors. Now, to go "berserk" denotes madness, conjuring up the image of a raging bear. However, when such force is tamed through awareness and experienced without succumbing to the fragmentation and chaos brought by the bear image, it becomes extremely protective, lending its strength to the conscious aspect of the personality. Viewed in this light, the bear becomes a clever creature, prudent and cautious in some ways, agile and dexterous, purposeful and methodical.
I had dreamed of Bears and Wolves months before and in some ways this trip was to experience a landscape where they live in the wild. In this moment of communion I began to appreciate Caspari’s words at a more cellular level. Still thrumming from the experience we arrived in Jackson. This had been a trapper town and part of the movement of Europeans West. Now it is a well heeled, middle class ski resort with lovely boardwalks, shops and galleries. Whilst there we visited the National Museum of Wildlife Art that perches on the valley side, just on the outskirts of town. Again into our minds were conjured the powerful animal life of the West.
Moving on from Jackson we crossed the state line into Idaho and headed for Idaho Falls. In all our travelling we kept crossing the Oregon Trail that we had first encountered all the way back in Fort Laramie. This kept reminding us of the great migration in the 19th century. This is what wikipedia says about the trail.
From the early to mid-1830s (and particularly through the years 1846–1869) the Oregon Trail and its many offshoots were used by about 400,000 settlers, farmers, miners, ranchers, and business owners and their families. The eastern half of the trail was also used by travelers on the California Trail (from 1843), Mormon Trail (from 1847), and Bozeman Trail (from 1863) before turning off to their separate destinations. Use of the trail declined after the first transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869, making the trip west substantially faster, cheaper, and safer. Today, modern highways, such as Interstate 80 and Interstate 84, follow parts of the same course westward and pass through towns originally established to serve those using the Oregon Trail.
We mused on the contradictory feelings this evoked in us. The whole history of land appropriation from indigenous peoples mentioned in other journal entires is one pole. The other is awe at the tenacity of these uprooted people to seek a better life on the other side of the continent. The scale of the human cost of this enterprise is hard to calculate, both for the indigenous people and the settlers. We read that the Lakota named it the Whites Holy Road, because they thought something that took such a toll must have a sacred purpose.
As we travelled, each night I rewatched 1883 Taylor Sheridan’s spinoff series from the original Yellowstone, that charts the Dutton family’s exodus to Montana along the trail. It gives a powerful insight into its history. There is a part where things have become very hard on the trail and James Dutton played by a country singer called Tim McGraw says this of his daughter.
"I didn't have the heart to tell her there's not
heaven to go to. Because we're in it already.
We're in hell, too. They coexist right beside each other. And God is the land."
1883 - written by Taylor Sheridan - Paramount+
One night having reflected on all this I wrote the poem at the head of this entry. In my night time musings and dreaming I realised that these long pilgrimages are archetypal and they speak so much of our instinctual sense that when we die we also go on a journey. I read that the Lakota believe that the soul travels on up the Milky Way to its home with the Great Spirit. All our journeying led me to this realisation and it made me feel a great sense of gratitude and wonder.
I really enjoyed this, getting your perspective on these special places. And Tom made some wonderful images, too. I'm glad you were able to visit the Rockies, they are among the most amazing places on the planet.