This past weekend, Nancy & I ditched civilization and went here. Yosemite. We were here to celebrate 20 years of marriage, marked officially on October 29th.
We had a wonderful time, walking, talking, resting, eating, hiking the Mist Trail. Yosemite Valley is from 1,500 to 2,000 feet below the cliffs that surround it, and as a result, the primary feeling one comes away with after a very short time is that of smallness. Littleness; insignificance.
The grandness and beauty of that place is staggering, large, and overwhelming, all at once. For me, standing in a meadow or among the trees on the valley floor, and looking up, put my life in sudden perspective. I spend my days often thinking that I am large, and in charge. I think I can handle things. But when I am placed in a location that forces me to look up in order to appreciate the immense beauty around me, a renewed sense of perspective sets in.
It is I who am small, dwarfed by the sheer beauty of Creation around me, and humbled to the point of a loss of speech when considering the mystery of the Creator of it all. When first passing through the Wawona Tunnel, the primary emotion I feel is that of just wanting to sit and weep, in awe of what lays before me. To get out of the car and just look, seems, well, so small an offering.
A recent article I recently read struck a chord in my spirit in relation to the beauty I experienced this past weekend:
What more, you may ask, do we want? … We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. —C. S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"