Spirit of the Mist

"To see a world in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."

William Blake (1757-1827)

This is a sacred place of great mystery and spirituality for over ten thousand years. I am but only one of millions over the centuries that have come to witness this spectacular force of nature born of water and rock. A steady stream of cold water runs down my chest forcing me to grasp in short elevated breaths as the mist surrounds me in a white shroud of moisture. Wind drives raindrops against my exposed face unable to see in alabaster blindness, I shift my footing to regain balance. The roar of a million lions would be lost like a falling leaf in a great forest as the tidal wave of sound that assaults the senses. The earth quivers from the power of billions of tons crashing from the sky to ground below. For the briefest of moments we collectively discover how insignificant our life is within the context of this surreal world, humbled by a scale that is difficult to comprehend, yielding to a power that is immeasurable in one’s mind. All my concerns, worries and thoughts erode from the soul in presence of the sublime.

Never before have I been able to find such spirituality with nature while standing shoulder to shoulder in a crowd of hundreds. Assessing the sublime beauty of nature in the past has always been a solitary endeavor requiring silence and reflection as it systematically revealed itself in an intimacy of a new lover. Seldom can I recall the spirituality of nature being so literal and bold, untamed as it screamed to your soul to listen as you have never listened before. As if it was a sign of divine intervention the grey day broke the exact moment before the object of our journey was revealed to our timid eyes. The fog surrounding everything begins to glow with an angelic softness and light. The roar intensifies as it shakes the flesh, while the wind howls with rich organic breath of the essence of all life. Bodies shift and clamor to steady themselves against each other as the footing bounces and bucks like a wild mare. Nothing in life could prepare me for the vision that emerges from the glowing cloud of mist as I try to comprehend the wispy transparent spirits that dance in the fog like jesters swirling on the air in the court of the king. Each gust of water laden air makes the snowy spirits spin in pirouettes as I wipe the dew from my brow. Each of us is covered in a thin blue plastic veil which bellows and balloons around us like a legion of monks huddled before the mouth of a hurricane.

Suddenly the cloud of mist parts revealing a wall of water falling from the sky hundreds of feet above, as a slight sliver of blue sky trace the top of the cascading torrents of water with white cottony clouds dances with soft misty fog blending into a glowing frame in which to view this majestic fury. The scene is completely devoid of color with the exception of the pale stripe of azure sky and the foam green trace of water being refracted in the sunlight. The view is as inspiring as furious, heavenly as destructive, seductive as demanding. My mind reels as I turn my headed only to discover that the wall of water encompasses my entire view in all directions, as the narrow gap we entered from disappears behind the ubiquitous cloud of mist. It is as close to a vision of the gates of heaven I have ever imagined, glowing angelic white, powerfully defensive preventing all but the pure from entering. As the mist washes over me, I feel my sadness, my isolation, my pain subside and be cleansed from my thoughts. Calmness fills me as I deeply inhale the spirit laden mist from this sacred place, allowing me to once again feel joy in the presence of such incredible reverence. It has been a long time since I felt connected to the world, having drifted in a meaningless wasteland of false hope for which there was little comfort. The cold mist had slaps my soul to awaken from a pathetic destructive trance which had been suffocating my mind.

Returning to shore with the balance of the worshipers bathed in enthusiastic glee, I am at once drained but renewed by the short experience up the river. Images of sublime beauty, heavenly power and swirling clouds of mist dancing before my eyes, fills my mind. Discovering this idyllic place, we find ourselves filled with a yearning to linger here, where time has no start or end, but is constant and beauty overwhelms. I have been touched by the spirit of a greater power and it has rendered me tranquil and renewed to set forth with vigor. In the days since my experience at the falls, I have reflected on the sheer power and beauty frequently which in some unique way I am changed. My soul has seen an earthly rendition of the gates of heaven guarded by the spirit of the mist finding comfort in her majestic beauty and to this end I can see her majestic beauty is all I see.

Horseshoe Falls, Niagare, Canada Photo by Mr. Blue

"There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter."

Rachel Carson