Holding Sunlight in My Hands

One of the reasons I hike in nature is to be overwhelmed by scenes of natural beauty and awe, to lose myself for a time in experiences that let me know I’m part of something greater than my perceptions. But as soon as I realize that I’m in one of these moments, I’m no longer part of it. I become an observer instead of a participant. Now I have a choice. I can do nothing and hope that I slide back in, or hope that a second moment will begin and take me further, or I can conclude that the moment is over and try to remember it as best I can.

Generally I preserve special moments by writing or taking photographs. With photography, the only option is to interrupt the flow of the moment because the deer will run off or the sunset begins to fade. The photo has to be taken now. With writing I can linger, jot down a few images, and flesh out the details later. Yet trying to preserve transcendent moments in one-dimensional forms like photography or writing isn’t complete because so much is left out. They are only signposts pointing the way.

Transcendent experiences are not the product of close observations or logic. I cannot make them happen. Like a Zen koan, understanding comes by surprise, by leaps of intuition. Although I write to understand these moments, life is still best when it is simply lived.