The Sublime Wow
Recently I spent a week visiting the Kruger National Park. Naturally after trips to a game reserve, the question that frequently pops up is, “What did you see?” Not to disappoint, I usually respond by citing the sightings that are more likely to denote a degree of achievement for a bush trip. But more than my desire to not disappoint, is my reticence to explain how I actually do not need to see anything, such as the big five, or rarely seen species or anything that is regarded as special or that ticks a box in the list of must-see viewing.
Just being there fills me with the good stuff. Yes, it’s an energy but everything is energy. In fact, whenever I am fortunate enough to visit the Kruger (and other reserves or pockets of rich nature) I can feel how out of balance my own energy is, coming from the city or suburban life - the life of walled-in separatism.
During that reprieve, my friends and I stayed in a resort just outside one of the Kruger gates. Our veranda overlooked a river, with rolling hills gracing the other side of it. On our first morning there I spotted a few animals in the distance on one of the hills. Our first ‘sighting’, I thought. They were cows, and during the course of the following days, they regularly grazed on our side of the river, just in front of us.
I sent images of them to a friend who replied, “You and your cows!” And then added, “Appreciating the little things, hey.” It wasn’t a conscious effort to appreciate ‘the little things’, things that to many are regarded as a form of currency, food, stock, a means to an end. I have always considered cows to be beautiful, exuding peace through their big soulful eyes. And their calves are just as sweet as the young of all other species. Somehow when adult features are perfectly diminutized while maintaining their intricate details, they ooze cuteness, whatever they are.
My friends were on the same wavelength of appreciation, so there was no “You and your cows!” commentary from them. We even took a stroll among them to be closer.
But the “little things” point set me off a-mulling on how the common vs. rare stakes can affect our spontaneity in appreciation.
If you have visited African game reserves, you will know that you cannot drive for long before you see Impala. Herds of them are liberally sprinkled over the landscape.
Their common status encourages a degree of dismissal in viewing drives, perhaps for fear of wasting time that could otherwise be spent on finding the elusive treasures. But, at the risk of sounding like a patron of the common, I enjoy spending time watching them, and being in their presence – their beauty is so delicately and neatly outlined; their movements nimble, and in the absence of predators they simply get on with the business of the day (every day), eating, while giving you the occasional glance. Simple and peaceful and so relaxing to merge in communion with them.
Another example of ‘common’ both in the bush and suburbs, is the Cape Starling.
This bird also captivates me with the sheer magnificence of its beautiful colouring. I love the colour blue in all its shades, which, I know, further immerses me on the side of common. I took this shot while we were having a bite to eat at one of the rest camps. As opportunists, they courageously follow food, whatever the setting.
In contrast to the starling, this bird could be described as dull – one that would fall under ‘great personality’ in dating attributes!
And it certainly doesn’t have rarity to boost its appeal as it is one of the most widely distributed birds. Common, the Sparrow definitely is. Yet, spend time just following it with your gaze and notice the buoyancy it exudes as it hops through its daily search for food, or chirps its heart out in the early morning hours. One would be hard pressed to find displays of ‘having the blues’ in such behaviour. They inspire me with their displays of ‘cheerfulness’ - no drooping shoulders with beak dragging along the ground from them.
I did say that I don’t have to see anything in the bush to be happy, by which I meant, animals. But of course you still receive the influx of patterns, textures and hues. And trees! From the grand and majestic to the skeletons of trees which look like they were assembled by two-year olds from a wild assortment of branches. Any angle, any direction is just fine.
At home I have watched ants before with unaverted gaze, and while they may not raise a wow for physical beauty, they sure earn one for their dedication to the cause – that which serves the greater good of the whole – and they just don’t stop.
So much to see, so many opportunities in which to draw appreciation into awe, when not stifled by the knowledge that whatever captures your gaze is common, something that you (and anyone else) can see whenever you choose to.
Or am I wrong?
Does frequently-seen equal dulled receptivity to the awe factor? Is it naturally impossible to keep the embers of awe alive without reasonably long intervals between sightings?
Or do we sometimes self-censor ourselves in the face of ‘common’ for fear of being regarded as weird?
On the other hand, enthusing at the rarely seen could be unconsciously contrived, based on the viewing statistics, and not spontaneously triggered by your individual sense of awe.
So, do we allow the knowledge of the rarity vs common status to intervene and manipulate our feelings, rendering them into calculations?
The more academic you get about any subject, the less inclined you would be towards spontaneous expressions of emotion about aspects such as beauty. But beauty is truly not just the superficial appearance – it is the lure that invites transcendence from the finite into the infinite.
As Eckhart Tolle says:
“Even a stone, and more easily a flower or a bird, could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself. When you look at it or hold it and let it be without imposing a word or mental label on it, a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you. Its essence silently communicates itself to you and reflects your own essence back to you.”
And while I cannot claim to have experienced travelling the full length of those wondrous paths back to our eternal origin, as Tolle describes it, I have had times of completely losing myself in what I can feebly describe as a merge with the object of my gaze. It is deeply peaceful and golden.
I believe that it would be hugely beneficial for us to make a conscious choice to take regular pauses from the chase of life, to look at one of nature’s displays, really look, and then go beyond looking to merging with it, in the absence of ‘words and labels’. Those times that I have savoured this, I can only enthuse over as amazing therapy, although I hesitate to use the word ‘therapy’ because it implies a purpose and that shatters the whole experience. There can be no intention when losing oneself to this entrancement.
We are conditioned to prize being active and productive. Busy is revered! But how much more melodious would our inner narrative become if we paused regularly to draw on these sources of beauty, sweetness or endearment as they offer their comfort, connection or even solace if needed.
Pauses are good. Pauses from purpose, direction and a search for meaning. From pause to awe!