Seneca said, “You can put up with a change of place if only the place is changed…finally having scoured the lower areas it bursts through to the heights and enjoys the noblest sight of divine things and, mindful of its own immortality, it ranges over all that has been and will be throughout the ages.”
Having arrived in Babb yesterday, I was delighted to see the vast nature of Glacier National Park. Mountain peaks stretch the horizon: Blackfeet Indian reservation’s Big Chief mountain, St. Mary’s lodge where young russian exchange students frequent, Charlies bar with live music, Blackfeet bouncers and happy crowds drinking PBRs, all the way to Canada thirty miles to the north.
“There is no limit here.” And it is true in more ways than one. First of all, speed limits change frequently from 70mph one second, to 25mph the next giving you just enough time to slam on the brake to avoid a near cliff edge experience. In between all those changes are the horses that run free in the open range of the reservation. Weather can go from sunny and brilliant to stormy and dreadful within minutes. Just the other night some grizzly was spotted raiding a dumpster, just a short distance away. And when the night comes, the stars just make it all peaceful, if only for a few hours.
“Montana’s so crazy dude,” as the fella grabs a beer for the road to the bar. “I love it here.” The fella, easy going, Freud reading, but ready to stay on the move works just a walk away from the dozen or so cabins filled with adventurers, searchers, hippies, go with the flow types. Some come to find work and time for reflection meditation. Others are escaping the dreadful suburb experience and embrace momentum. A few in between, call them the incarnates, see a time to really figure out what is going on.
“So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it…the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairies, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody.” – kerouac