Simplicity’s Majesty
Whenever I’m left speechless by the grace of a waterfall or the dignity of a mountain, I’m stunned by beauty’s simplicity, as much as by beauty itself.
How do water and dirt become so majestic, I wonder? Where does that simple beauty reside? Each waterfall droplet is no different than the ones coming through my kitchen faucet, or pooling to make a puddle in the gutter. Yet, when the droplets collaborate on creating a river falling over rocks, a mysterious and magical grace takes shape.
Similarly, the mound of dirt by my woodshed is little different than a mountain. Both are just piled rocks and soil. No one is inspired by my dirt pile, especially me, who has to mow around it. Yet a pile of rocks and dirt at the scale of Oregon’s Mt. Hood becomes as inspirational as a cathedral. At what point and scale does inspiration begin? What is it exactly that triggers our experience of majesty?
As the beginning of my answer, an old memory returns. I was once traveling from Arizona to California with a lifelong friend. We stopped to marvel at the Grand Canyon. Gazing out from the rim, we were overcome by the vista, when another family pulled up at the viewpoint. The parents pleaded, but couldn’t get their sullen young son to leave the car to look at the view.
“It’s just a dumb river,” he said. We tried but failed to keep a straight face. I still laugh about it. By now, I hope that former kid has returned to the Grand Canyon with new perspective.
My own sense of scale and beauty has changed since then too. Looking at the world through a close-up lens opened up worlds of beauty within even the smallest vista. Over time I learned that I could feel the same wonder—the same sense of beauty’s simplicity—within the tiniest scene at my feet. Every water droplet contains endless beauty to be explored, whether from faucet or river. Single grains of sand, or tiny piles of soil, also contain such pattern and life that I feel the same sense of inspiration upon close inspection.
Majesty is merely perspective, I know now. When we look closely and open ourselves to it, we can always find that feeling within. When I stop moving mindlessly while washing my hands, the water in the sink becomes a miracle too. When I see all the life of ants and roots and grasses in that mound I must mow around, I notice the living miracles growing at my feet.
It is simply a miracle to be a part of this life, for however long we’re given, no matter the pains and issues that come with living. The gift of daily remembering that is a habit this practice of celebration and gratitude has created in me. It’s become an easier and simpler habit over time. That too is a simple miracle, a form of beauty we can continue to cultivate together, as collaborative as droplets in a waterfall, or hidden stones within a mole hill or mountain.