Of Zion Wilderness, a Tale

In 2018, I explored Zion National Park in Utah with my father. It was there that Zion etched these words into my soul.

Of Zion Wilderness, a tale. Out here, in the heart of everything, my spirit dances with the sweet aroma of pine, it joins in flight with the whispering breeze, and listens to the low rumble of hidden desert dwellers as I long to understand their message. Every jagged crevice, each asymmetrical edge of golden earth is still actively colliding in this molding of ages, with patience everlasting.  Before these crash collisions became this picturesque landscape there was pain and destruction, dreams dreamt only to be swept away in flash floods of disappointment. The green of spring, of seeds of hope, evaporated into a cold and desolate grey.

But then that hopeful day arrives, quietly, unassumingly, as if it had been there all along and the impenetrable mourning finally lifts, the cycle of life begins to break through. The tinkling bubbles of glassy water smoothing multicolored stones play along the creeks and streams, a symphony punctuated by echoes of happy children giggling as they hop from rock to rock. Over space and time the gently flowing water amasses momentum from hidden depths and this Virgin River barrels through the Narrows, over and above the slippery slopes in life, the moments of choice, the precipice where our values shape our past, present, and future. In the same moment, all is stillness and yet nothing is still. Breaks, falls, wandering bends, and rebirths of towering trees with their swirling veins tell secrets of all who wandered these paths before. You and I, all of us, we have wandered such paths of heartbreak. Perhaps today the joyful peace and the bright halos of warm sunlight are felt that much more intensely, appreciated that much more deeply, because of the tear-filled journey through thick and blinding sorrow. Perhaps the chaos and confusion are the birthplace of wonder and renewal, the rock-bottom a new foundation for a healing spirit.

So aptly named, this is Zion. It is God’s promise recreated every moment, 150 million years young.  This is Kolob, like the Mormons declared, the heavenly place nearest the residence of God. Here I am reminded that everything is perfect just the way it is; each grain of sand and each petal on a flower, like each encounter between human beings, mysteries that fit precisely together all meticulously planned, a puzzle we can only see whole from a great ways away. The palpable quiet is intermixed with whooshing gushes of wind blowing through slots in the canyons. It reminds me that the breath of life is not always silent or calm when the most beautiful things are being created, rather it is sometimes abruptly interrupted by the unexpected. And like the mountain ever lifts its face towards the heavens no matter the earthquake down below, through grit and grace we will aim our vision and prayers skyward. In this place I understand that everything is possible, that miracles do happen, that they are just waiting to be recognized and actualized. Remember this space in time, I tell myself, remember the revelations, the equanimity. Grasp it, and share it, mind-travel here frequently.

Outside, in the heart of everything, I find the holy place inside. I find my place, my peace in the wilderness that is life. Of Zion Wilderness, a tale.