Relish the Moment

There is something about the desert. Something that is hard to put into words. The telescope I'm working on is on one of the highest points of the mountain, so there are some spectacular views. I walked up here by myself this evening, so I had a chance to stop and actually take in the view. Take in the beauty. Take in the stillness. Even with a breeze, looking out at a hazy desert landscape at sunset brings a sense of silence, of peace. It is difficult to not ponder about Something More during that moment.

I took a deep breath and allowed myself to sink into the surroundings, into that moment. My senses were heightened and I began to take notice of the direction of the breeze, the color of the brush, the call of hawks down in the valley, the way the sunset cast shadows on the hills below, the color of the light itself. And all of this was wrapped in a feeling of peace, of stillness, of belonging. I was thankful for the opportunity to witness such beauty. I knew that if my only reason for coming here was to be part of that moment, that was reason enough.

Then I looked down at the rock wall in front of me and was caught offguard. Right next to me was a whole mess of red ants working away. Dozens of ants, each with a specific job, carrying their load or heading off to their next destination. Moving in and out of the hole leading to their hidden world below. There I was standing in awe of the majesty of my surroundings, the silence of it all, and the world was busy and active right beneath my feet.

It seems insignificant, but those little diligent ants made a world of difference to me in that moment. Those ants were carrying out their routine, what they know as their life's purpose, and I'm sure they were doing their job well. They don't know how not to do their job well. But they also don't know of the world beyond their own, of the beauty and majesty that lay beyond their anthill, of the possibility for stillness in a world of work. I know I'm pushing this here because of course the ants have no concept of the World. But how often are we like those ants? Just pushing forward and pushing onward, completely oblivious to the beauty that is directly in front of us?

We consistently fail to pay attention. The fact that it took me several minutes to notice the ants that were less than six inches from me is partial proof. We fail to pay attention in so many ways because we have our way, our routine, and our own answers. And these are (of course) the best answers, otherwise we wouldn't call them our own. How are we supposed to be able to listen and learn from Someone who knows better if we are already shut down?

Being busy and being occupied is what this world demands, it is what is expected. But I don't think Answers can be found in the ways of this world. Otherwise we wouldn't all be so lost.