Montana

For a single weekend in October, east met west as students and teachers from Philadelphia joined students and teachers from Montana to explore various forms of art. For each form of art -- photography, writing, theater, art -- we had generous mentors who led the workshops and encouraged everyone and shared their enthusiasm and stories.

We were hosted by two wonderful families who opened their homes to us and provided us the time and space to forge new relationships.

The picture at the right is one I took early one morning as the sun was rising. The view is to the south east. You can see one of the cabins where we stayed on the left. But behind the cabin and between the trees is the horizon of mountain and sky. Everywhere I looked, the sky arched above and the foothills and plains and river sculpted the view.

I have not been to Montana since my husband and I went hiking for two weeks in Glacier National Park. That was over 14 years ago. Since those years, I had forgotten the sweeping views of sky joining earth.

When we got off the plane in Billings and boarded the bus, I sat beside the window and felt my chest expand. I took deeper and deeper breaths, trying to inhale sky. How to describe that sensation of simultaneous exaltation and diminishment? I felt small and hushed, and yet paradoxically I felt enlarged and joyous. St. Augustine spoke of this sensation in his Confessions, as he described his envelopment in and by God. If I remember correctly, Augustine felt both insignificant before the Almighty and yet when joined to that presence through love, he felt blessed.

I don't claim to have a relationship with God. I only have this sensation of absolute awe and humility when looking at the unity of mountains and sky. And it has to be mountains unobscured by cities, houses, telephone poles, or even people. I don't want people crawling between me and that horizon. I want to be overtaken by the land and made into nothing by the vastness.