I was the last one to know. I was the last one to know that there just happens to be an enormous cathedral, a temple, a holy place right in the ground. Just 3 hours out of Roswell, and smack dab in the middle of some arid and utterly boring ground in New Mexico.
At least it seems that way to me, all arid and desolate and...BORING, as we drove 3 hours from the civilization that was Roswell. That could be because I was sitting in the back seat of a sedan. Whatever. I was the last one to know that there was anything worth the drive in the backseat of a sedan next to a 3 year old that hates to sit still but loves to poke me in the eye with a Cheeto Puff. I was the last to know that I could find something that makes me yearn to take that journey again. But it's true.
I had to have been the last one to know about this place, because it seemed like we were the last in a very, very long line. Even though it was only noon when we came upon the sight, we were behind bus tours, motorcycle gangs, Boy Scout troops, and mini-vans. We rubbed shoulders (tightly) with a flock of nuns. We dodged the waggling fingers that kept an entire preschool in line. And, we even beat a band of roving gypsies to a parking spot. I don't feel bad about that at all.
What I do feel a bit bad about, though, is just coming upon this thing so casually. We had no pilgrimage. No piggy-bank savings that were broken in honor of this place. These crowds crowded in from all over the world, which had to be spendy. I just made a jaunt with my brother-in-law as a last minute decision.
Just a quick drive from Roswell to Carlsbad, and an unexpected clash of cultures happened in the parking lots and lobbies and elevator lines. Just like that. We drove up and saw bumper stickers from Canada and Mexico. On several rental cars, England, Spain, and Ireland showed up. (I know this because someone loves to decorate car windows with sayings like "London Rules! Eat My Dust, Rorie!" and "Where's The Shrubbery? I Miss THE GREEN." Not to mention the bumper sticker with, "Who ate my bangers and mash? -2010" on the back of a 1970's era VW bug.) I found it impressive. And, I wondered what all the hubbub was about?
Those people did not yammer so much about the wondrous things inside the caverns. They did not clap their hands or dance on tip toes or make the squealing sounds that happen in anticipation of something amazing. They didn't do it, and neither did I, because we didn't ACTUALLY know that we would do those things later in the tour. Those people talked more about staying together, and finishing up the little snacks before they went in because NO FOOD WAS ALLOWED a'tall. We practiced a small bit of small talk, when we were smushed together in the lobby. Or in the small line that went to the elevator. None of it was really about what was actually there. It was only speculation at that point, and that was why it was such a smack to all of my senses as the elevator opened up, 100 floors down (or something close to it), and we all walked into The Beginning.
The Beginning being, of course, the place where the crowds bottle-necked as if they were looking at a car wreck on the side of a freeway, but with just the opposite reason for those OOOH'S and AAAH'S. The Beginning was the first taste of the treasure that was Carlsbad Caverns. And that was where the tip-toe dance went on. That was where the fingers smacked the hollows of cheeks as the jaws were dropped. THIS was where the squealing sounds started. And then ended. It was The Beginning, and everyone knew it.
After The Beginning, I was on my own. Even though I had technically come with a 3 year old and his dad, and my son, I was still on my own. The rest of my party could see it in my eyes, and they graciously moved ahead, letting the 3-year old lead the way. Because the sights and the sounds and the scents... well. They were majestic and overwhelming. And, I wanted to drink it all in. And those were all my own. So I started walking.
My eyes got wide. Then wider. I looked up and up and up because I could. It was an enormous cavern that had broken any of my laws of what a cavern should look like. Homes could fit in there. Buildings, and parks and playgrounds... they could all fit in this cavern, and still there would be room. There would be room, but that had nothing to do with the FEEL in this place. None of the roominess would have anything to do with the majesty and eloquence that this space radiated. So take all of those things away, and what you would have is...a sacred place.
I wandered along the paths that had been set up for safety and enjoyment so all of us in the crowds could look a bit closer at the unique beauty that grew where we could see it. Lights were set in places to highlight spots that needed highlighting, and other spots were backlit or forelit or not lit. This all blended into a miasma of colors and visual textures that begged for the cameras and recorders that were brought out toot-sweet quick time. And still, none of that addressed what really made this place amazing.
The Rest. The restful, peaceful, calm space that enveloped the cavern. It was as if each Pillar and Popcorn Structure and Mushroom Cap and Chinese Theatre area were not grown as a result of mineral deposits and pressures within the earth at all. They were SCULPTED. They were almost asked and coaxed and teased into being. They were wanted. They were needed. And so, they showed up. For pleasure and for pondering, and for peaceful contemplation, they were brought into being.
I learned useful things about the place, from muttered and hushed parents, talking to children about Stalactites VS. Stalagmites. (These were voiced as "stalag-tites, and stalag-mites", with only 2 syllables between 1 word each. I think they had painted the "Bangers and Mash" bit outside on the car.) I learned that the bottomless pit was not really bottomless, at one-hundred-and-WHAT-DOES-IT-MATTER-TROY?-JUST-STAY-AWAY-FROM-IT!. I learned to keep going! Sheesh! We have to get back to Grandma's, baby. And DON'T go under the handrail...Don't Go Under The Hand- BOB! HE IS STILL GOING UNDER THE HANDRAILS!... and so forth. It all mushed up in the file of my mind labeled, "Entertaining bits that parents screech", and I kept walking.
Through all the conversation, the movement, and the hubbub that went on in the pathways, and with the flashing of cameras and the "Come here and pose by the pillar!"-ness, the majority of the cavern went on unphased. As I looked up, I saw the chandeliers and the drippings of mineral water (slowly, slowly, slowly) that pushed a bit down toward the chaos. They were beautiful and inspiring to look at. As if the baubles that were to be caught in cameras and conversations were put at eye-level just to keep us silly beings busy as we went through the cavern. It knew we would soon be gone, and so it could be ever patient as it fulfilled its purpose: to grow, complex and beautiful. It knew that those that could appreciate the beauty would stay, would ponder, would love it and be better for it. And so there were seats, about halfway in.
Those with kids, toddlers, infants, and bored travelling companions lingered long enough just to get a quick camera shot for Facebook, and then they were off. The few that were left were me and... I didn't care whom else. I saw the cavern and all it's ground level pitstops combine with the unfathomable darkness that hinted of so much more. All of those things combined with a view of climbing, climbing, climbing space that reached into heights unknown by me. Out of the high darkness, and as if to comfort those that stayed, were beautiful creations, some sparkly and eye-catching, and some that were muted and magnificent in their quiet shapes that seemed to have no sharp edges at all, bubbling over itself as it grew toward the floor.
That is when I teared right up. It was dark, so no one noticed. I was alone, so no one looked. I was overcome with the power of this place, and no one saw. I was grateful that this was a moment I shared with on one but the cavern. I felt, and saw, and heard and knew that this place was special, and I got to be there. It didn't occur to me that a woman with tears running down her face in the middle of an enormous cavern might alarm someone. Especially if she had a silly grin on her face as she wobbled to the bench and sat down, looking up. It didn't seem out of the ordinary at all to utter a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever power owned that space. It didn't even seem odd when I closed my eyes for a bit and just felt the warmth that had gone through my body. In fact, I don't know of another sacred space where I wouldn't get some weird looks, but I did all this on my own, with no one noticing. It's wasn't odd at all.
After a few minutes of silence, I felt complete enough to get up and enjoy in a more mundane way. I started looking at the signs that labeled each interesting formation, and experienced the teetering lookout place that showed where "Bottomless Pits" started. (I couldn't care less if they were bottomless or not. All I could think of was how unfortunate the first guy had to be, exploring around here with the wrong equipment. His name was probably Jerry, and he probably didn't make it out there alive. I wondered why the pit wasn't labeled "Jerry's Place" or something like that, by his partner Jeff.)
The rest of the day became normal, and I was soon out of the cavern. Now this did NOT mean I was out of the cave. All signs started to point to the elevator, and the logical conclusion was that when I got to the elevator, I would be able to get on it. Um. No. Have you ever been to an amusement park on a holiday, when it was just the right temperature outside? Lines out the wazoo? It was like that. The lines even had a restaurant area and umbrella tables dotted throughout, maybe just in case of rain. It was this crowded. Like no one had been able to get out of this place until I showed up. The line was at least 45 minutes to an hour to wait. This means that I had more time to contemplate what I had just experienced, but in a Chatty Kathy kind of way. This was the beginning of each conversation that I heard:
"So...How did you like it?"
And the responses all ended like this:
"Wow."
The rest was subjective.
Kids ran around parents, and teens ran after the kids. Parents hissed, "Get. Over. Here. Now.", and kids acted like they didn't hear. That conversation between parent and son was actually how I honed in on the party I came with. I loved that I didn't have a small child at this time. And this was the norm for the next hour. What did break up the chaos a bit was the sound of "Hey now! Don't climb on that!" from the various park attendants that materialized as crowd control, I guess. I noticed this because my nephew stood out particularly to them. My son would go get him, and 5 minutes later the conversation would start up again.
They did not engage in any conversation that I saw, those park rangers, and did not break into any kind of smile. It was as if they had come out of that sacred spot only to be jolted by the kick in the shins from a small child. Maybe they were. Maybe it was our kid.
We stood waiting in that line, and I heard my brother chat up conversation with adults from all around him. What stood out to me was a mom from Texas with her 3 teenage daughters, standing in the line patiently while some 3 year old ran around an old guy's legs. Apparently they all belonged to her. (The guy didn't even notice. He was chatting with a teen about how cool the place was. Everything the teen said was "cool". I silently agreed.) My brother talked with the mom and old guy about the pillars, and then turned around and chatted a bit with 2 grandparents of a toddler. The toddler was standing politely nearby, and our kid had started screaming at the top of his lungs, "I Want Out OF HERE!" (Grandpa and Grandma picked up their toddler and said in heavy Scottish brogue, "Well, Shamus, we knoo who is a goot boy, er?") After that, my brother stopped talking at all. My brother picked up his son and looked up to the ceiling, silently willing our party out of the ground.
I heard nuns chattering in small, but excited tones. People from South Dakota made themselves known (Don't cha know!), and a group of tourists from Taiwan kept clicking on their cell phones at everything in general. I basked in it all. Everyone loved the place that I loved. It was good to know I wasn't alone in knowing about the amazing hole in New Mexico.
The way back to Roswell went by much faster. Mostly because my 3 year old nephew was so tired that his arms and legs didn't seem to work. He also had an almost hung over look on his face. My brother said it was because he skipped his nap. I believe it was from dodging the Park Rangers' clutches. Next time, I think I will arm my little nephew with roller skates. That would be the amusing part of the amusement park line. As for me, I will arm myself with more tissue, as I plan fully to enjoy that cathedral again soon.
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