God on Ice (Let's Start...part 4)

(photo by Tom Dempsey, photoseek.com)

In the last installment of the LSATVB series (I feel like I'm writing for a soap opera), I had just graduated from college. I was headed down to Arizona for graduate studies, and at that point in my life I was very conflicted about my spirituality. I considered myself an agnostic who really *wanted* to believe, if for no other reason than to fit in with society.

Once I left North Dakota, I entered a crazy and exciting time in my life. Any thoughts of religious belief were more-or-less put on the back burner, I suppose, because I don't remember even thinking about religion then. I was starting a challenging PhD program, moving across the country (thousands of miles from my family), and moving in with my boyfriend. To top it off, I was given the opportunity of a lifetime...to study in Antarctica. It remains one of the most exciting and transformative experiences of my life (next to becoming a parent).

In the beginning of November 1997, I traveled with two of my colleagues through Chile and Argentina. Flying over the Andes in a small twin otter was the first of many breathtaking moments. We boarded a ship that would take us almost 700 miles from the nearest civilization to Palmer Station...too small and remote to go by plane, and a 3-day voyage by sea in good weather. For all intents and purposes, we were isolated from the rest of the world.

This blog isn't the place for a full description of all we did there or what life was like, but the isolation was key. For almost three months, I lived on a small outcrop of rock at the edge of glacier-covered Anvers island just off the Antarctic Peninsula. At the peak of the season, there were 38 of us living there, and ships would come every few weeks to re-stock the station with "freshies" (fresh fruits and vegetables) and change out crew members. There were no TV or radio stations, no regular telephone, and a satellite Internet connection that only came online for 30 minutes, twice a day.

When you find yourself in a place of true silence...no man-made noises save the ones made by yourself and your 30+ colleagues (no traffic; no planes flying overhead; nothing)...it lends itself to a lot of introspection. The three members of my field research team spent our days studying plant growth on a tiny island about 2 miles from the station. We'd suit up, pack our lunches, load up our gear, and (weather permitting), head out in our Zodiac. My favorite time of day was the break we took after lunch. We'd sit in silence on the rocks facing Anvers Island...feeling the sunshine on our faces and watching the glacier calving off into the water. Occasionally a minke whale would pass by, or we'd be visited by a brown skua (we called one of them Yogi, since she was always trying to steal the remnants of our "picnic" lunch), or a curious elephant seal or a penguin or two. Sometimes the silence was broken by the cry of a giant petrel (huge birds related to the albatross) that nested on our small island.

There were close encounters with humpback whales and huge icebergs while we were on our way to and from the station, and I had the incredible experience of looking into the eye of a 40-foot humpback...and realizing it was looking at me, too. I can remember looking down into the icy water, and watching penguins zipping along below the surface...showing off their underwater "flying" and acrobatics skills. As much as they seemed like awkward little comedians on land, they were the most graceful creatures beneath the waves.

I can honestly say I have felt more connected to "all that there is" (what I think religious people call "God") while on the ice than I have ever felt before or since. My head was clear, and I made some monumental decisions while I was there. First, I realized that for every amazing thing I did and saw there, I wished I could share it with my boyfriend, C. It just wasn't complete without him there. I was on the ice when I realized I was ready to be married and share the rest of my life with one person. Second, I decided to leave the PhD program (a decision I was struggling with before heading down to Antarctica). I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in an office writing grant proposals and trying to survive in a "publish-or-perish" academic world.

These are the kinds of decisions that I've heard my religious friends say they "pray about" to find answers. It seems to me that praying in this sense plays a similar role in the lives of people of faith as quiet introspection plays in the lives of non-theists. I think the biggest distinction is that when theists make a decision they believe that it comes from God, whereas we see the answers coming from within ourselves after giving ourselves time and space to relax and contemplate. They see these feelings of profound wonder and clarity as being divine in origin, whereas we see them as part of a completely natural, completely human experience. I think that this speaks more to our similarities than it does our differences...we feel primarily the same things, but where we hear the "voice" coming from within ourselves, they believe it's emanating from a supernatural entity.

In light of feeling a sense of spirituality, or "God," being in Antarctica is like nothing I'd experienced before or have experienced since. I've come close, though, while sitting on the rocks next to the ocean on the Oregon coast, or while hiking in a forest in the Cascades...or being in the clear air in the desert or mountains, looking up at a night sky that is filled with an unfathomable number of stars. Being secluded and close to nature reminds many of us, I think, of how we are truly a part of it all. We are tiny and insignificant (certainly not the center of "creation"), and still we are a part of something much greater than ourselves. What's more, we are cognizant of our place in it; we ponder the Universe and the meaning of our lives...and that is awe-inspiring. As Sagan said, "the Cosmos is also within us. We're made of star-stuff. We are a way for the Cosmos to know itself."

Looking back on my experience on the ice, with nearly 13 more years of life experience under my belt, I can recognize how truly amazing it was. I realize now that having awe-inspiring moments in the natural world is my personal connection to my sense of spirituality. Those are feelings and sensations I've never experienced in a church, though I explored that thoroughly, too (more on my church experiences in a later LSATVB installment). It has nothing to do with a deity...and everything to do with just being human. And contemplating what it means to be human can be an amazing, awe-inspiring, intesely spiritual thing.