This I Believe
I believe in sitting on a crumbling slab of stone overlooking polished granite domes with a river running between them, at least once a year. Because, to me, if there are gods, this is where I am closest to them. I believe in coming here not because my mom has, since she was a kid, but because it is a beautiful, serene place and I love it. And because so few of such natural works of art still exist. I believe it is imperative to lose yourself in nature to be free of the pressures of anything. Letting go of everything and simply listening to the cry of the jays, the babble of the river and the wind through the pines is a religion of its own.
One cannot say that their life is complete until they have experienced firsthand the wonder of nature. I believe that the ancient pocket meadow clinging to the face of the dome is an altar, and the snake within, a priest. I believe the dark, cold water of the deep ground-out stone pools is holy and that the only baptism I need is from here. I believe that the lichen on the rocks is the only scripture I need know. And that the glowing slashes from the ancient glaciers are my stained glass. I believe that the waterfall at the end of the domes is an organ that never stops playing. I believe the universe conspires to make this place holy, for at night the stars burn bright and meteors streak the sky. I believe that the bears keep to their side of the river because they know what this place is. I believe that the frog in the crack of stone is a monk and his stone is a monastery and that he sings psalms every night for all to hear. I believe that regardless of how much the faithless vandalize it, this place is a temple. No matter what force tears through it, this place is my mosque. This I believe: nature is my religion and this place is my cathedral.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.