And there were giants in the earth in those days - Genesis 6:4
Lone Rock is a unique formation in the Wahweap Bay of Lake Powell, located in Southern Utah. It rises some 300 feet from the Lake. I see it from the highway. I want a closer look. The descent is calm. Lake Heron, Roadrunner, and the crow reveal themselves. As I approach, it becomes more beautiful and seems to have something to say. As I catch the last down-hill stretch to the beach, it utters and stops me quick. I get off the bike, hearing it. It says. . . Nothing. I listen for a minute and hear. . . Nothing. Another minute goes by as I let the silence soak into my skin, my muscles, my bones. Finally I hear a bird chirp as it flies by. Witnessing the hills and jagged peaks thrusting up near the horizon, the rockscape gleams yellow and gives way to red, mirrors the color of the sky, eventually fading into a deeper blue, all keeping remarkable peace. This quietness strongly, tenderly exhorts one to introspection. There is nothing to hear but your own breath, the throb of heart in the temples. Something seems important about this moment, I cannot say what. As I think of the difficulties of this life, the disenfranchisement, losses uncompensated for, they seem to carry with them a hardness of earth. They have a certain texture. The have. . . slope. Amid this silence I look out at the universe of rock beings regally exalted over the lowlands upon which I stood, I heard in my mind, "Climb . . ."
Later that day, I came upon Antelope Point, and delighted and reveled in the beautiful rock outcroppings. I couldn't just look. I ran down one section of red-and-white channels, falling in a zig-zag motion down the smooth channels in the rock until I reached the water. It was beyond dangerous, and my hidden vitality had taken over and blithely carried me like a child. I splashed water on my face and waltzed merrily across sections of rock until I came to rest upon one spot that afforded a place to lay back a little and rest my head. Total happiness. The geology here shatters the dull commonplace and brings the mind out of its comfort zone. Again, I seem to love these stones in a strange way. I love their looks, their texture, even the sensation (somewhere between sound and touch) of their layers as I bring hands down upon them, gently climbing. Indeed, there may be a common thread in our humanity that draws us to these petrified sanctuaries, some of God's finest sculptures. I have read their stone scripture and ponder upon them often.
Lone Rock is a unique formation in the Wahweap Bay of Lake Powell, located in Southern Utah. It rises some 300 feet from the Lake. I see it from the highway. I want a closer look. The descent is calm. Lake Heron, Roadrunner, and the crow reveal themselves. As I approach, it becomes more beautiful and seems to have something to say. As I catch the last down-hill stretch to the beach, it utters and stops me quick. I get off the bike, hearing it. It says. . . Nothing. I listen for a minute and hear. . . Nothing. Another minute goes by as I let the silence soak into my skin, my muscles, my bones. Finally I hear a bird chirp as it flies by. Witnessing the hills and jagged peaks thrusting up near the horizon, the rockscape gleams yellow and gives way to red, mirrors the color of the sky, eventually fading into a deeper blue, all keeping remarkable peace. This quietness strongly, tenderly exhorts one to introspection. There is nothing to hear but your own breath, the throb of heart in the temples. Something seems important about this moment, I cannot say what. As I think of the difficulties of this life, the disenfranchisement, losses uncompensated for, they seem to carry with them a hardness of earth. They have a certain texture. The have. . . slope. Amid this silence I look out at the universe of rock beings regally exalted over the lowlands upon which I stood, I heard in my mind, "Climb . . ."
Later that day, I came upon Antelope Point, and delighted and reveled in the beautiful rock outcroppings. I couldn't just look. I ran down one section of red-and-white channels, falling in a zig-zag motion down the smooth channels in the rock until I reached the water. It was beyond dangerous, and my hidden vitality had taken over and blithely carried me like a child. I splashed water on my face and waltzed merrily across sections of rock until I came to rest upon one spot that afforded a place to lay back a little and rest my head. Total happiness. The geology here shatters the dull commonplace and brings the mind out of its comfort zone. Again, I seem to love these stones in a strange way. I love their looks, their texture, even the sensation (somewhere between sound and touch) of their layers as I bring hands down upon them, gently climbing. Indeed, there may be a common thread in our humanity that draws us to these petrified sanctuaries, some of God's finest sculptures. I have read their stone scripture and ponder upon them often.
Have always felt this way since my first wanderings as a mere boy of 19 and today I made it so: Life is a playground. We all know it when we are kids, but along the way all of us forget it. We talk and talk, but Nature is ever there, offering the gift of regal stillness. Can you hear it?
Silence is our national security, our civil defense. By destroying silence, the legacy of our deserts, we leave no room for peace, the deep peace that elevates and stirs our souls. It is silence that rocks us and awakes us to the reality of our dreams - T. Tempest Williams
Here's to remembering
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