The Little Things

I don’t know about you, but the most remarkable things I ever experience happen when I am alone. 

Take that rainbow—vivid as a Warhol, its base shearing across all six lanes of the freeway with the sharpness of a razor, embedding its edge into the glistening asphalt. Its back arched into Parley’s Canyon, ducking its head behind the misty hillside like a neon feline.

I would not have believed it, but this visage was validated by the other drivers and their sudden splash of brake lights. Part of me thought I should stop the car right there in the fast lane and just take it all in. The more capricious part of me wanted to speed headlong as fast as I could, to see if I could break through its surface and shatter it into a kaleidoscope of ethereal confetti. Better still, get sucked into its heavenly core if it had one at all. 

Not all of his exhibitions are so grandiose. There are funny things that the cat does, the actions of an unsuspecting passerby that warrant a chuckle or at least a raised eyebrow. There have also been sunsets galore, cloud formations and blossoming trees that have stolen my breath. Or the blasting wind from my car window, as I stick out my hand, allowing God himself to take it and hang on for the ride.  

Relating these experiences to someone after the fact, I am usually met with a condescending smile or an impatient look that asks where the story is headed. But I know the true magnitude of these moments even though no one shares them with me. Maybe they are better left witnessed alone.

For in the company of others, when I speak of this spirituality, talk usually turns to superficiality—work, television and home remodels. One man’s heaven is another one’s hell.