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[ Line of Sight ]
DATE: October 9, 2003

Reverence

We just got back from a two-week vacation (yes, the last two weekly web updates were done on the road). We toured the Western/Southwestern United States -- the Redwoods, California, Arizona, the Petrified Forest, Painted Desert, Utah, Mesa Verde, and more. Our big goal was the Grand Canyon, however.

The Grand Canyon may be the most amazing place on earth. You really have to see it firsthand to understand. I'd seen pictures and TV and whatnot, but... well, it's really amazing.

Visiting the Grand Canyon taught me a lot about nature, geology, and so on, but it also taught me something interesting about human nature.

As you approach the Grand Canyon by car, you don't see it ahead of you. As you get close, you're in a forest (of Ponderosa Pine). It seems like other forests you've seen: It's pretty, but nothing special. Then you park your car (if you go in September, like we did, you can park pretty close). You still can't see anything, though. You get out and follow a little trail. You and the people you are with, as well as the people around you -- who are also parking their cars and walking up there for the first time -- are talking, laughing, and so on. What people normally do.

Then, all at once, you suddenly see it. The Grand Canyon looms in front of you, almost 10 miles across and thousands of feet deep. It's huge, and -- what I wasn't expecting -- it's complex. There are ridges and formations and many levels to the canyon floor. There are thousands of colors presented to you at once. It is literally breathtaking.

You and the people around you suddenly become very quiet. No one says anything. You just stand and stare. You walk slowly forward to get closer to the edge, and you still say nothing. Eventually, you turn to whomever you are with and you see what you are feeling reflected in their faces. And in the faces of everyone around you. You begin to speak, but it is in a whisper. You continue to stare for a long time.

There's really only one word I can think of for what you feel. Reverence. No matter what kind of person you are, no matter what your beliefs, you realize that you are in the presence of something truly awe-inspiring.

There is one interesting exception, however. As I looked at the people around me, old and young, obviously from all walks of life, everyone had the same reaction to the Grand Canyon -- except for little children.

It had no effect on them at all. They still laughed and played and cried like they would at the mall. People always talk about the wonderful innocence of children (and I don't disagree), but I realized that reverence is something that you learn. You acquire it. It's tied with maturity, and with life experience. There's a certain innate understanding among people when they are faced with something so big and so amazing, and you can only gain it if you spend a few years faced with normal life.

I suppose in a child's eyes, everything is always big and new, so none of it is more amazing than any other. But when you spend years staring at a computer screen, at the back of the car in front of you, or at your TV, and then come face to face with something like the Grand Canyon -- even if you don't understand or care how or why it was created -- you just know that its something special. It's almost a sacred place. In fact, to the Native Americans of the area, it's literally a sacred place, and you can see why.

Reverence is a state that is perhaps only possible in contrast to the mundane aspects of everyday life. But it's universal. We were surrounded by people from all over the country and all over the world, and we all reacted the same. We all knew to treat this place with special attention. The feeling's clearly a part of being human.

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