Schwabacher's Landing

It was a lazy Sunday in Wyoming, and an especially lazy one since we had just run a half marathon the day before. My wife and I decided we’d sleep in the day after. We were true to our word. A morning coffee and a croissant later we were driving through a large herd of cattle, grazing as slowly as we were driving. The clouds in the late morning were proudly puffy, giant marshmallows in the sky. And they rose high up on this cool blue Sunday.

We were headed to Schwabacher’s landing, and our modern day compass, Google Maps, pointed us down a gravel road with potholes big enough to jostle even the sturdiest of suspensions. The parking lot could only hold four cars it seemed. And three were taken. We slipped into the last spot like it was meant for us. We met a large family walking back from the river bank as we headed towards it. Smiles were swapped and heads were nodded. Their boys were loud, tossing stones, heavy ones into the deepest part of Snake River. Their mom yelled back telling them to “Get a move on it!” Each, oblivious to her cries, attempted to one-up the other in who could get the better sounding “ker-plunk-n’-splash” sound. Eventually their conversations faded into the distance as my wife and I made our way further down the river.

We stopped briefly on a picturesque patch of reeds and long grass by the burbling river to admire the Tetons that rose stoically in the background. The peaks, streaked with snow, framed by the varied green of late spring, were simply breathtaking (the photo above, I took is from the exact spot). That’s when we realized there was nobody else here. No signs of humans, no tourists, no tour buses, no large families, just the wilderness…and us.

Something happened in that moment for me. I will try and fail at doing it justice. Standing there looking, gazing at the slow-moving river, feeling, hearing, listening to the low roar of mountain wind rushing past, I saw that everything one could ever need is here in this moment. The search for the divine, for God, is not in the past. What can memories hold but grey-scale images of what once was? What can the future hold but paper-mache projects made of dreams? What we all seek for is only always here, now. The single sentence that rang like a clarion call in my mind at that moment was this: “God is this moment, when nothing else is added to it.”

As that sentence rang clearly in that crisp blue sky of my mind, it felt as if I was seeing reality nakedly. It was like not knowing I had been wearing shades all my life, suddenly taking them off and being amazed by life’s luminosity. A few moments later, as if a game was being played, the little narrator in my head reasserted itself. It was a thought that started like, “Oh! this reminds me of the time...” And without the thought even finishing itself I could see how the naked luminosity of the moment diminished somewhat. I was no longer with what is, as it is, but seeing it through glass darkly. And then again, like a peekaboo game I was playing with myself, that seed thought of comparison was dropped and with it all words. This is where words leave me in the description of it. What left was the past, what left was the future, what left was all isms, what left was Adam. What was left: God; a palpable radiant presence, brilliant and pulsating with joy. This, this is it. It wasn’t about the view or the trees or this beautifully lazy river. It was this moment.

Wisdom traditions speak of emptiness in moments such as these, yet I felt full, immensely full, overflowing. Wisdom traditions speak of fullness, Purnam in Sanskrit, yet I felt empty. In fact there was no “I”. There seemed to be nothing left at all. This moment was allowed to be as it is, unadorned, plain, and pristine. And those words arose again so clear, like Gabriel’s trumpet call: “God is this moment, when nothing else is added to it.”

We live our lives in search of bliss, an all consuming love and miss the obvious truth that it is here, now. Our work then is to remove the veils we’ve covered the moment with. Like the princess and her pea. We sense it, we know the truth is there, it’s just all these mattresses and blankets we have to toss aside.

I recall hugging my wife exuberantly saying something nonsensical like, “This is it! It’s all perfect just like this. If you just don’t add anything.” See how terrible words can be? She had a quizzical look. But I know she loves me no matter how nonsensical I’m being. We walked back to the car, back to the seatbelts and potholes of civilization. It was only as we left the now empty four-spot parking lot (more like a dirt cul-de-sac) that we realized we had turned off onto the “wrong” road. Schwabacher’s landing was another three minute drive north. We went there too, to check off that item, to stand and take pictures and smile with the rows of families from all over the world, but I knew that for me the real landing was just a few minutes away near a dirt cul-de-sac by a lazy river and some reeds.