I think it’s unfortunate, even if unavoidable, that we pay so much attention to the early, intense, romantic, brief phase of new relationships. The old expression about the triumph of hope over experience in certain situations applies here, although while infused with the mania we generally avoid knowing the reality ahead, which comes soon enough to all relationships. Books, movies, life: we’re hooked, intoxicated, almost as if under the influence of a psychedelic, which, come to think of it, we are. I know nothing about the biochemistry of romantic passion but would be surprised if it were completely different from the experience of magic mushrooms. I bring this up because of this: as Twig and I wandered along the Canyon rim an hour ago and found engaging places to sit in quiet awe I remembered that my first encounters with Nature’s beauty were very much like falling in love, but without the subsequent comedown. Not that the excitement didn’t abate and turn into other satisfactions but there were no disappointments, which, let’s face it, are inevitable in the human-to-human realm. It’s rare today, but not by any means absent, that I am so transported, so lifted out of one consciousness and into another in an instant; but my fix is always there, and I count on it, not as my goal in Nature relations but as side-effect, very much as happiness can’t be directly sought but comes from participation in meaningful or merely positive activities on its own volition. Which brings me back to my perch on the rim while ago—food for the spirit, nourishment for the soul…besides the inherent pleasures of mindful engagement with these places, I feel infused with these kinds of nurturance. Drink deep, for tomorrow may not come.
Photo by Tom Dillon on Unsplash
