Our arrival at Lake Quivira, Kansas coincided with a rose vermillion sunset over the rippling waters of the lake, visible through the lush, leafy, summer trees. July 4th was the first morning we were able to sleep in, which was such a gift after spending 1,846 miles on the road. Feeling highly privileged, we stepped out of the air conditioned house and drove a little black golf cart into a cloud of steamy heat, swelling with the buzzing of cicadas. We drove down to the lakeshore and dove straight into the water, our bodies probably steaming like a hot cooking pan run under a cool stream from the kitchen faucet. I was soaking in utter contentment.
Earlier in the day we had been given a driving tour of Kansas City, passing along hot, empty streets between towering brick buildings. The city reminded me somewhat of Newcastle, England, with the red buildings and arching bridges. The gold-leaf roof of a church shone out from the city center, and the shimmering metallic arches of the performing arts center echoed the design of the Sydney Opera House in Australia. While hearing stories of sunken steamboats found buried in fields, and limestone caves miles deep used for storing frozen produce, we drove past the famous Plaza shopping center, and saw the Hallmark headquarters where my aunt had held a twenty-one year career as an artist and letterer.
Our Independence Day dinner was classic American fare: corn on the cob, cole slaw, fried chicken––which, yes I will admit was a first for me––and my personal favorite of home-grown basil, local cherry tomatoes, skewered with a toothpick to mozzarella bathing in an olive oil and balsamic sauce. The discussion over dinner, primarily with a self-declared “hardcore” conservative, was about as lively as one could get while remaining friendly. Matt thrives on such discussion, and the table was like a verbal match of ping pong with multiple players participating at once. The starting topic was Obama’s healthcare program which was just upheld in the Supreme Court, that led each of us to parse out the details of what was good and what needed to be changed, and that the Republican solution to just repeal it was not enough: another alternative needs to be offered for that to be realistic.
The conversation ranged over many of the most controversial bi-partisan topics, from education and taxes, to evolution. Matt and I had to make it clear we are not what would be considered “mainstream liberals,” and both sides of the conversation learned not to assume the other was a caricature embodying the full ideals of the mainstream left or right parties. When the discussion turned toward evolution we began to narrow in further and further, starting with Matt speaking of how creationism cannot be taught as a scientific alternative to evolution, because they are coming from entirely different fields. However, as we gave examples of evolution we discovered our conservative conversationalist did in fact believe in both adaptation and genetic mutation, but not evolution, which he had separated out. His argument was similar with global warming: he said he believed in climate change but not global warming. Ultimately though, as we were feeling inclined to wrap up the discussion out of consideration for our hosts, we came to a similar agreement on evolution, as recognizing the physical evidence for evolution while also recognizing the Divine influence present in the universe’s unfolding as well.
By this time dusk was falling and we turned our attention to other things, namely making our way down to the lake to embark upon the pontoon boat to view the fireworks, the closest display of them I have ever seen. As the last smoke faded from the sparkling, colorful flames, we turned around to see the full moon rising and reflecting its golden orb into the black waters of the lake.
Early this morning, the fifth day of the trip but the fourth of driving, we set out from the house at 8:15 am and began our day’s travels through five states: Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. The landscape remained a rich green the whole route, alternating between hills and trees, and skillet-flat fields of corn, potatoes, and soy. We rode over wide rivers, including the famous waters of the Mississippi when we passed by St. Louis. Early memories of reading Huck Finn flashed through my mind as we hovered for several seconds above the legendary waterway.
Rupert Sheldrake joined into our conversation, which had been rather lively since the discussion the night before, and the subject of morphic fields intermingled with the corn fields passing left and right. We were listening to a tape from 1982 when Sheldrake gave a talk at Esalen as part of one of Stan Grof’s workshops entitled “A New Science of Life.” If an animal participating in its species’ genetic field undergoes a genetic mutation it may be less like its species but still part of the field. However, if enough mutations occur then the animal may actually change
morphogenetic fields entirely, becoming a new species and cultivating its own field that will grow with more generations of participation. The ideas fit perfectly into our previous night’s dialogue. My primary question for Sheldrake would be, what accounts for creativity? I believe I understand how species develop based on past generations through the morphic field, but what can bridge between fields? Might that be where the Divine comes in, perhaps to participate with the creativity of the evolving individuals?
By early evening we were pulling up to our destination near Cincinnati, Ohio to be greeted by many members of Matt’s family, including his mother and grandfather. The 105° heat of the day was at last wearing away, but the humidity remained thick in the air with the mosquitoes and fireflies, the latter of whom flashed in the dusk sky like fairies signaling one to a secret woodland feast. We had our own feast inside, followed by an evening dip in the pool and a series of home videos of Matt as a baby and a toddler from his childhood home in Florida.
In the morning we leave for Michigan, for a stay on Green Lake from which many of my own childhood memories abound.
Becca Tarnas 