It is said to be one of Zion’s most precious gifts—etching its way through rock, carving out canyons. Here, it is the most powerful influencer of physical shape and life. It oozes from porous sandstone and cuts through the park in the form of the Virgin River. It gives birth to lush respites in an otherwise desert landscape. It is water, in all its splendor and simplicity. Hanging gardens spring from the rock, trees erupt along the riverbanks, and humans flock to it under a scorching sun. If you follow the river, you can hear its energy rushing alongside you. You don’t have to be in it to feel refreshed. Its mere presence is enlivening.
So you can imagine my surprise when I heard the same sound near the top of the canyon rim as I hiked down from Observation Point. Of course, I knew it wasn’t the river or a dripping spring; it was the wind. And even on the hottest of days it isn’t exactly a welcome guest when you’re perched on a cliff-side with no guardrails. After I clung to the side of the rock for a bit, I continued forward. It wasn’t strong enough to pose a real threat and I got accustomed to hearing the swell from far away before it came crashing to a crescendo in the cavernous park and receding. It become sort of soothing and sounded just like water. In unguarded half-seconds, I figured it was the ocean. Maybe because I grew up near the coast? In any case, wind and moving water do sound the same. And why not? (This is where I wax poetic.) Both are currents of energy, calm or forceful, perpetual and persistent, at once comprising and shaping us and our earth, aiding in life and death. Like two sides of the same coin, they are different expressions of the same existence. The very essence of being. Life-giving and life-threatening, good and bad, giver and taker, light and dark, wind and water, mother and child, and so on and so forth….
All one in the same.
