Contemplate the ‘marvelous structure of reality’

Sometimes places just grab you. They hit you where you need to be hit, hug you as you need to be hugged, give you exactly what your body and mind need at precisely the right moment. It’s an occurrence that is hard to predict and even harder to orchestrate, it just slides in next to you like an old friend whose presence you can enjoy for as long as they decide to stick around.

Each of us undoubtedly has our own mental list of places where we feel close to the sublime, and there are places in this wonderful little world where I have reliably found this sweet spot. The Celts dubbed these sacred patches of earth “thin places,” where the distance between the celestial and the human comes close to touching; places where we humans can experience a serene gasp of the heavenly breath.

In my own experience, these places have cropped up unexpectedly across the world. The first that I can remember struck me when I was a teenager loping up Matanuska Peak. For those who haven’t walked the McRoberts Creek Trail at the end of Smith Road, it gets staggeringly beautiful when it strikes out beyond the tree line. Tucked between Lazy Mountain and Matanuska Peak, for me there is something special about this place that goes well beyond the spectacular beauty of the scene. I have often ended my climb at this point, thousands of feet below the summit, content just to lay around contemplating the “marvelous structure of reality,” to borrow a phrase from Einstein. And eat blueberries. Oh yes, late in the summer the blueberries come out. That might have something to do with it. Nevertheless, whenever I make it to this spot a better me emerges, one who is content to simply revel in the wonderful gift of life.

The grand pyramids of Teotihuacan just outside of Mexico City are another of these places. Amid the chaos of one of the world’s largest cities erupts a site of profound calm. The pyramids are one of the few places I have been that are greater and more massive than any preconceptions conjured by the creativity of the mind’s eye. They are stunning. The Pyramids of the Sun and Moon rise gracefully above the Avenue of the Dead and supply a superb vista from which to view the marvelous archeological site below. But for me, there is something much deeper at play. I could sit atop those structures for hours enjoying much more than the view, basking in a sense of awe and peace. I used to live about 45 minutes away from this wonderful site, and any time a visitor would stagger into my home it would only take a few moments before I cajoled them into a visit to the pyramids. I could never get enough.

I was struck by a similar feeling when I traveled to Israel a few years ago and journeyed to the location of the Sermon on the Mount. I had been largely unimpressed with the sensory experience offered by that country up until this point — there is a striking feeling of unrest and fear, highlighted by the massive wall that snakes its way through the land and the ubiquitous metal detectors. But here, on the side of a hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee, those feelings evaporate. The Sea of Galilee sits almost 700 feet below sea level. At this elevation, the atmosphere feels different, thicker and more palpable. There is a stillness that accompanies the place and the chapel and gardens there celebrate serenity while reminding us that we can all be a little better. It felt like arriving at an oasis in a desert devoid of peace — a fitting place to unfurl a banner of love and humility.

Perhaps my favorite of all of these places, however, is an unlikely spot in an unlikely city. For the four years I lived in Luxembourg, I would jog regularly through the gash in the city caused by a small trickle of a stream. Over centuries, the stream eroded a sizeable canyon that provided the steep walls in which the city’s fortifications rested, and later, when Europe calmed down, it became a park flanked by ancient walls and crossed by towering, graceful bridges. It wasn’t until I lost two of my dear friends to cancer that this place revealed its sublimity. I recognized its beauty, sure, and its historical significance, of course, but it took a crushing blow to my world for me to see the place for what it was.

Standing midway up the chasm in the sunlight, surrounded by plant life and birds soaring on the energy of thermals, I was struck with a profound sense that it was all going to work out, that things would be OK in the long run and that I need only to stop and listen and appreciate the gifts with which I was surrounded. This was an amazing, unexpected gift of clarity from a place that I visited almost daily.

Fortunately, I have managed to stumble across many of these places in my wanderings, and their existence is one of the many reasons why I keep traveling. I expect we all have places like these and I know that I will do my best to notice and appreciate them in the future. Now if only I could find a “thin place” somewhere in my car when I am stuck behind some boob doing 45 on the highway.

Pete LaFrance grew up in Palmer and has moved back to the area after a number of years living abroad.