A Thousand and One Appalachian Tales

part twenty

The High Country

"In the high country of the mind one has to become adjusted to the thinner air of uncertainty, and to the enormous magnitude of the question asked..."

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, pg 111


©Copyright 07/21/02002. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.

The Agnostic Monk stumbled to shore and raised his arms in a giant V for victory. He made it! Everything was touch and go for a moment but somehow he managed to pull through. He had crossed the Kennebec River and lived!

There, near him, on the side of the shore was a pile of poles. This prompted him to look up. Gripped tightly in his hands were two of his own. He tossed them on the pile then dropped his pack. He had to hurry, Ken Bushpig was almost to shore. He fumbled with the knot on the plastic bag and extricated from within a Canon AE-1 35 mm camera, with zoom, still one of the finest cameras ever made. He was able to shoot five shots before he ran out of film. He watched as the last thru-hiker made it safely to shore. Then, they gathered in a circle and let forth a loud cheer. They had done it!

They were now officially in the final stretch, 151.6 miles to go. Everyone was excited and fully charged; they had been duly baptized in the holy waters of Maine. Now it was time to drink beer and celebrate. To a few thru-hikers, such as the bushpigs, beer was considered an energy drinks, full of carbohydrates. It temporarily escaped their attention that it was only about 7:30 in the morning.

Caratunk was close, less than a half mile away. They decided to re-group there. They arrived at the PO a little after 8 am. The Monk picked up his food drop. His mother also sent him some cookies and extra film. He never had enough film. He also made sure to mail his exposed rolls home. He had wrapped them in so many ziploc baggies and plastic bags that even if he drowned and they had to fish his pack off the bottom of the river, those rolls of film would have remained dry. And he might've. His mind flashed back to that moment, mere moments ago, when it all could have gone differently. He was deep in the river, the current was pushing him over and the rocks beneath his feet were beginning to slip. He was close to losing his balance and experiencing major technical difficulties. But then, somehow, he managed. With the grace of God, the help of two sturdy poles, and all his strength, he pushed himself back up onto the gravel bar. It had been close.

The store was closed. That left two choices, Northern Outdoors, a campground with bar, no store, 2.5 miles up the road or a store 8 miles away in The Forks. Just then a driver of a pick-up truck pulled up. He was happy to see some northbounders. He told them he was going to Northern Outdoors but he'd be happy to drop them off at the store. Buddy Bear, The Monk and Chris --one of the Great Descenders, jumped in the back for a short hitch to The Forks. When the driver heard they were just running in for beer, he was kind enough to wait. Then he dropped them off back at Northern Outdoors. Minutes later they were happily quaffing pints of lager. The bar was open.

They raised a toast to the crossing of the Kennebec River, and to having lived to tell about it. The Monk thought silently to himself of a thru-hiker who had drowned in 1985. That could have been one of them out there today. It could have been him. He reflected on the sorrow her loved ones must have felt from the terrible loss. Then he raised his glass to her and said a silent prayer.

Both Chris and Buddy Bear were married men so sneaking off for a quick beer in the bar instead of hurrying back was risking a punishable offense. Still, it hadn't been the Monk's idea. It had been Buddy's. And it was Chris's idea to stay for another. 23 minutes, 2 pints later they were back on the road looking for a hitch. They didn't find one but it was a short road walk. All in all they were gone a little more than 90 minutes.

But the smell of beer on their breaths was enough to rile the wives who had been left waiting. A silence ensued and they moved out. The Monk loaded his six-pack into the bowels of his Jansport then climbed in. He used impulse power to navigate to a safe distance then engaged the warp engines.

Minutes later he arrived at his destination. A short easy hike from Caratunk brought him to Pleasant Pond Lean-to. There, the group gathered for the rest of the afternoon. A quiet celebration shortly ensued. Much of the tension had been left behind in Caratunk, replaced by a reflective moodiness.

Thoughts of the close proximity to the end of the Trail helped to encourage a certain dialog. A common question was, what was everyone planning to do afterwards, when it was all over? For many, this invited retreat into the corridors of thought and further contemplation. In front of them lay a big, giant, white-hole in time, a space-time singularity beyond which none could see. But, at least for the time being, they were still afforded the luxury of the moment, the spellbinding presence of now.

The autumn colors were just about starting to peak and the sun was no longer the blazing furnace it was a few short weeks ago. Many took the peaceful quiet afternoon as an opportunity to read and The Monk joined them. He grabbed his book then found a rock overlooking the pond. He was learning about Hume and Kant. Hume was an empiricist. He argued that knowledge is derived exclusively from the senses. More specifically, that all our ideas come from impressions. But then he also believed, the existence of a world outside of human experience could not be proved. He proposed that since all knowledge of the world comes from our sense impressions, and there is no knowledge of the world apart from sense, it is therefore logical to conclude that there is no evidence for the existence of the world apart from our senses! From this he argued that the existence of an external world, separate from our sense impressions, could not be proved.

This struck the Monk as circular. To him it contained no information. Nor did it disprove the existence of an external world. All it really did what shift the burden of proof. Instead of Hume having to prove the world didn't exist, the world was left having to prove that it did. But when it tried, Hume framed the criteria of proof in such a way that all evidence of time, sensation, and causation could not be used. It didn't matter that data came from somewhere, it only mattered that this somewhere could not be proven to exist separate from these inputs. It seemed like a tedious game that led nowhere.

Enter Kant. He said, "But though all knowledge begins with experience it doesn't follow that it arises out of experience." Kant felt things like time and causality were all a priori, that is, derived from self evident propositions, independent of experience. He called time an intuition which the mind supplies to make sense of the data.

Kant called his thesis that our a priori thoughts are independent of sense data and screen what we see a "Copernican revolution." By this he referred to Copernicus' statement that the earth moves around the sun. Nothing changed as a result of this revolution, and yet everything changed. Or to put it in Kantian terms, the objective world producing our sense data did not change, but our a priori concept of it was turned inside out.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, pg119


Kant was saying we aren't just passive observers but active originators of experience. He was saying it is the representation that makes the object possible rather than the other way around. The Monk remembered that his favorite author, Robert Anton Wilson, had a saying. "What the thinker thinks, the prover proves." Kant seemed to be saying something similar. If we did not filter the data coming to us through our senses, we would not be able to make sense of it. He was saying it is our representations which allow us to separate the intelligible from the unintelligible. Without them everything would appear to be just noise.

Kant proposed that the external world is known only insofar as it conforms to the fundamental structure of the knowing mind. Only objects of experience, phenomena, may be known. Things lying beyond experience, however, are unknowable, even though in some cases, such as with time and causation, we assume a priori knowledge of them. Since the existence of such unknowable "things-in-themselves" cannot be scientifically demonstrated or refuted, Kant concluded the great problems of metaphysics, the three "ideas" of reason -- God, freedom, and immortality -- cannot be solved by scientific thought.

This was all well and good the Monk thought, but it still presupposes that all knowledge begins with experience. Further, it presupposes that in the absence of external experiences, no internal ones are possible as well. But the Monk was not willing to accept this as a given. To him it lacked imagination. Was not a scientifically credible theory of the origin of the Universe the Big Bang Theory? Was this not a definitive example of something from nothing?

In the case of the child devoid of sense, was not this the very condition in which God found himself prior to speaking the Word? Was He not in a condition wherein he was devoid of all impressions until he spoke and created all things?

"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God." John 1:1. In essence, with the Word the universe was born. From nothing, something. Why then was it not possible that knowledge could arise from experiences unrelated to any sense data arriving from an external world? Why couldn't knowledge begin without any external experience? Why couldn't something come from nothing? This gave the Monk pause to remember a curious feature of Quantum Mechanics called Quantum Tunneling.

To understand the significance of Quantum Tunneling you first have to know a little something about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. The Uncertainty Principle showed that one could know the position of a particle with certainty only at the expense of knowing anything about it's trajectory or velocity. Similarly it showed that one could know the trajectory and velocity with certainty but only at the loss of knowing anything about it's position.

For years people thought this was just a limit of what was observable, that the universe wasn't uncertain, we were. But Quantum Tunneling changed all that. It proved that the Uncertainty Principle is at the foundation of all existence.

Suffice to say, that below something called the Plank Constant, causality breaks down. At this level, particles pop into and out of existence all the time. Physicists call this quantum foam. It is a frothing chaos of a-causality! Somehow, from this, causality emerges, unless Hume is right and there is no causality or Kant is right and it is a priori, not a property of the ding-an-sich, the thing-in-itself independent of experience.

Now experiments have proven that because of the Uncertainty Principle, radioactive particles can escape from lead containers by borrowing energy from this quantum foam. They are constrained merely by the fact that they must return this energy on the other side. Of course, all this begs a lot of questions. How do these particles borrow energy and how do they know when it's safe to return it? How do they know when they are inside a lead box and when they're not? And what is it about a particle that knows anything, or for that matter, that it wants to be on the outside? Is this merely our anthropomorphic projections painting what we see in a descriptive language we can understand?

But the point is, these experiments proved that Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle is far more than a product of the observer. They proved that Uncertainty is a necessary and fundamental component to all of existence. They also proved that something can indeed arise from nothing.

The next day began with an ascent to the summit of Pleasant Pond Mtn (2,477 ft). There was a crisp, refreshing, spring there so the Monk topped off his water bottle. The Trail then began a long rugged descent winding over and around several knobs before reaching a section of Moxie Pond called "Joes Hole." It was a short distance further to Joes Hole Brook Lean-to where he stopped for lunch.

After, the Trail climbed steeply over ledges toward the summit of Moxie Bald before arriving a bypass trail junction which allowed one to avoid the open summit in bad weather. There was also a note on his map: Trail over summit is still under construction and may not be completed until the fall of 1988. Use the bypass trail until completed.

Well, it was fall and there were no signs telling him otherwise so he followed the white blazes to the summit of Moxie Bald (2,630 ft). He was rewarded with breathtaking views in all directions. Looking northeastward, Katahdin peered above the landscape.

After soaking in the summit for about an hour, the Trail started to descend then disappeared. He scrambled a bit and found a herdpath down to a spring and the bypass. He followed that to the AT and descended quickly to Moxie Bald Lean-to. There he stopped for the rest of the afternoon.

He remained captivated by his book so he quickly found a place beside the shore of Bald Mtn Pond and dug in. He was reading about an incident Phaedrus had while teaching at a college. Politics was involved and funds to the college were being cut. Phaedrus wanted to see if something could be done to prevent violations of accreditation requirements. Some students asked if his efforts meant he was trying to prevent them from getting an education. He said no. But from this he deduced that his students were under an enormous misconception.

The real University, he said, has no specific location. It owns no property, pays no salaries and receives no material dues. The real University is a state of mind. It is that great heritage of rational thought that has been brought down to us through the centuries and which does not exist in any one location.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, pg 132


This served to validate the Monk's journey in many ways. The real University was not a classroom, just like the real temple was not a building. It was something more, something ineffable. The Monk realized he was sitting in the real University right then and there. The real temple was now.

He had long ago read about esotericism during the many,long and meandering literary excursions of his youth. Simply put, esotericism is the body of knowledge or wisdom which lies beyond the outer appearance or form. For example, the form of this document is words, language. But the meaning of these words lies beyond their form, beyond their appearance.

However, these words are written to be understood by anyone with a firm grasp of English. Thus they are written to be clear, not esoteric. Were we to add to them a further level of abstraction, wherein only a few people would know what they meant, that would be an example of esotericism. It is the ability to convey a deeper meaning than what is simply present in the worlds themselves.

For example, to some E=mc˛ is esoteric. However, to those who understand it, E=mc˛ is a powerful formula capable of being used for many things, including as a weapon of terrible destruction. Yet it is a simple fact of existence. All intelligent life will eventually discover it.

In the same way, the idea of a hidden school, is a profound idea amongst the esotericists. They believe, as Phaedrus does, that this school lies beyond the so called real world of matter and form. It is timeless. Seen in this light, the Trail becomes a mystery school in every sense of the word. Indeed, the opportunities for self-inquiry and spiritual growth can be all but limitless on the Appalachian Trail. To partake in these opportunities, it helps to realize the real university is within.

Nevertheless, in as much as all this may be true, it is not how the so-called "real world" works. The real world dismisses all this esotericism as so much crock. In the real world, nobody cares about the real school. In the real world all anybody cares about is the piece of paper you get from the legal corporation (e.g. fictional entity) which bears the school's name. If what you learned in school can't be reduced to a grade-point average and a college transcript, nobody cares. They're too busy and there are too many other people who have those things to waste time on you.

So while he empathized with Phaedrus' position that the real school has no specific location, he also realized that it was also an idealistic fantasy. If we try to run with it and apply it to the way the real world behaves, we fall flat on our face. Yes, in an idealistic world where the search for truth is considered a sacred pilgrimage to the high country, a failure to make a distinction between a local legal entity and a non-local truth does indeed lead to confusion. However! This is not an idealistic world.

In the real world, no one searches for the truth. If they do, they soon learn how foolish this is. In the real world, only money is sacred. All else is subordinate to cold hard cash or an off-shore bank account. Einstein said we live in a four dimensional space-time continuum but really it's five dimensional. Three dimensions for space, one for time, and one for money.

It seemed to him that Phaedrus lived in an idealist's dream world and so did he. He cheered him on for fighting the good fight, but knew, in the real world, the house never likes to lose. Thankfully, the "real world" was still far away. He dreaded it's impending return.

The Appalachian Trail was a timeless little oasis hidden from the real world. It was ideal. In many ways it was Phaedrus' dream world. It allowed the real university to provide a priceless one-on-one education that was without equal in the real world. But it could not last forever.

Event Horizons

30. Monson, Maine: old A.T. went through town, relo to open in '88 will bypass it. From my reading of map, when hit road, go right 1.5 mile. Phil says this road will be a side trail so will probably be marked somehow.

The 1988 Philosopher's Guide, p 49


The next day, a long, easy, cake-walk allowed The Monk to make good time. After sliding along the marshy north side of Bald Mtn Pond, the Trail continued along several mountain streams. It followed Bald Mtn Stream to the West Branch of the Piscataquis River. There, he was able to cross without wading. Then it followed the West branch to the main tributary which was about 50 feet wide and about knee deep. He could not cross without wading. Crossing Blanchard-Shirley Road, the Trail continued past the north shore of Lake Hebron to Monson.

Monson! The last thru-hiker town on the Trail. It was proud home to a tiny enclave of thru-hikers, the last of the season. Many had filled out the occupancy at Shaw's Boarding House but The Monk was able to find room. A few discovered the Old Church Hostel as a pleasant alternative. Pablo and Mom stayed there for their second night in Monson. They had arrived yesterday.

It seemed for many Monson was an obligatory 3-4 day stay. The hikers congealed and celebrated, a final class reunion before graduation. Many were finding it difficult to leave. A vortex had pulled them in and some had strayed beyond the event horizon. There was a strong resistance to finishing. To finish was to bring this remarkable experience to a close. Many were finding that very hard to do. They didn't want it to end. Stuck in the vortex, they were trying to hold onto something that was slipping away like shadows before a setting sun. A thick stillness permeated the air.

After a long hot shower, he joined up with a large group who were trading tales. One had a report on the Maineak and his Kennebec River experiment. Maineak, of course,always had to do things in his own maniacal way and crossing the Kennebec was no exception. To this end he carried a small, inflatable raft he picked up in the mail at Stratton. Apparently the hardest part was inflating it. It took him the better part of a day and a half. But then, when he tried to cross, he could not maintain control and the current pulled him quickly down stream. He had to hitch back from over three miles away. It was a major Maineak moment. Imagining the ordeal in their minds, the small group soon found itself consumed with laughter.

The next day, The Monk took care of his many monkly duties. He did his laundry then went to the PO to pick up his food drop. This was his last drop on the Trail. The words echoed in his mind. Everything was coming to an inevitable conclusion. He went to the store and rounded out his meals with bread and peanut butter. He needed at least a seven day supply for the final stretch. He planned for eight just in case.

Later, The Monk returned to the gathering. They were the year's duly anointed. It was quite a crowd. It looked like a distilled Damascus. There was Steve -n- Jerry, Phoenix, Zero/Lizard Boy, John Sandbagger, Ken Bushpig, Toothpick George, Mr. Rogers, the Traveler, the Great Descenders, Pablo and Mom, and many others.

Back in Georgia, common belief was that many begin the Trail but only a handful finish. Well, they were quite a handful. There must have been thirty thru-hikers gathered in Monson that night. The Monk took a guess that well over 200 people would finish the Trail that year.

Everyone had tales to tell. Ken delighted with gruesome stories of infected blisters and the holy quest for the perfect pair of boots. He had a crusader's look in his eye. Some quests would not end on Katahdin.

The Monk and Pablo shared a moment reminiscing about Wilburn Ridge. Pablo said he would long remember that night as one of the finest on the Trail. They both agreed it was a moment they would cherish forever. The Monk asked Pablo what he and Mom planned on doing after it was over. Pablo said he had spoken with Mr. Rogers and they had arranged to work out west at a Ski Resort for the winter. Mr. Rogers happily extolled the virtues of working in Alaska. He listed many of it's parks and recreation areas as great summer jobs. His routine was to work Ski Resorts in the winter and National Parks in the summer. It was obvious Mr. Rogers had found what he was looking for long before he reached the Trail.

He explained that he decided to hike the Trail after he met many thru-hikers who had followed up their hikes with excursions to Alaska. He made it sound so logical, as if the only place you could go after Maine was Alaska, as if it was just a few steps further to the Maine-Alaska border. Mr. Rogers found himself allured by the quality of experiences these thru-hikers had on the Trail. He wanted to discovered them first hand. But he was shocked by the sheer quantity available. He too would be forever changed by the journey.

Toothpick George related a tale of his journey to the Himalayas. He had a thick English accent but when he said the word Himalayas, many people stopped him. He was pronouncing it him-al-eeyas and the others felt it should be pronounced hima-layas. But Toothpick George stuck to his guns and said that was the way they pronounced it there. As no one else had been there, no one else could disagree.

Conversations turned to lessons learned. Some joked, they learned never to do this again! A roar of laughter spread through out the room. John Sandbagger said he learned some things could not be reduced to words, or lessons learned. Some things were just bigger than all that and this was one of them. Many agreed.

Attentions turned to the Monk and he was at a loss for words. The Sandbagger had taken them right out of his mouth. Finally he said, years ago I learned a mantra, om mani padme hum. I never really knew what it meant until now. All this passes and is gone. Yet, there is that which remains. The jewel in the lotus!

©Copyright 07/21/02001. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.


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