With everything happening in the world today, it's easy, as it's always been throughout history, to get frustrated and want to go hide in a cave. Last summer, I did exactly that when I spontaneously decided to visit Carlsbad Caverns National Park. Open to the public as a park since 1930, this place is truly a geological wonder.
Going inside the cave is a profound sensory and metaphorical experience, as you gradually descend from the bright light of a summer afternoon into the cool, humid depths of the cave. The opening resembles a bright eye getting smaller and smaller as the cave envelops you.
When the caves were first discovered, everything was submerged in darkness, but today all the cave's geologic oddities are on view thanks to modern lighting.
Your perception of time changes when you're down here. Everything you're looking at, stalactites, stalagmites, collapsed rubble, yawning openings, it all took thousands upon thousands of years to form. In the time it has taken for these geologic details to develop, civilizations have risen and crumbled dozens, even hundreds of times over. Artists have painted masterpieces, scientists have taken us to the moon, tyrants have arisen and been overthrown, all while the cave keeps forming and reforming themselves. The cave operates on its own timeline, one that until recently happily ignored the human presence.
Otherworldly is a word that tends to get overused, but I really think it is apt for the cave's interior. It's a wonderfully bizarre place, one that reminds me of documentaries I've watched on deep-sea environments that exist independently of sunlight. It is also a place that feels very old, very primeval as you descend further into it. You become very conscious of the fact that this is not your natural environment, that you are merely a visitor passing through.
Being a human with a worldview invariably influenced by culture, I couldn't help but find myself seeking human parallels in the all the strange formations I saw. Swirls of rock on the ground become analogous to medieval Celtic designs. Clusters of delicately serrated stalactites scattered along a rocky ceiling become the cousins of intricate Gothic arches and columns. The comfort and comprehension we seek through the recognizable becomes most readily apparent when confronted with the unfamiliar. I wasn't scared, just trying to make sense of all the wondrous things around me.
Eventually it was time to go, and this was perhaps the most magical part of the journey. Rather than take the elevator, where the line was at least an hour's wait and replete with rambunctious kids, I opted to walk out of the cave, physically arduous but infinitely more satisfying. As I approached the mouth of the cave, I turned a corner to see daylight for the first time in hours, overwhelming in its clarity and brightness. Here the camera captures the details that my eyes couldn't register at the time. Confronting that brightness made Plato's allegory of the cave that much more powerful. How right he was in choosing that metaphor to express the blinding, overwhelming, even terrifying power of enlightenment.
The experience of ascending the cave was aural as well as visual. As my eyes adjusted and began to discern new details, I also listened to the swallows nesting the the cave, chirping and singing to one another as they flipped in and out of the cave's mouth.
After a few more steps, I was back in the sunlight. I'd come full circle, descending from hot, dry light into cool, wet darkness, only to ascend back into light. It was an experience of opposites, but a very satisfying one.
I highly recommend visiting the cave if you get a chance. Whether you're a geologist, an artist, or something else, it's a moving experience to confront something that exists so far out of your everyday norm.
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| WPA era poster promoting travel and the revenue from tourism that accompanies it from the 1930s. |
Going inside the cave is a profound sensory and metaphorical experience, as you gradually descend from the bright light of a summer afternoon into the cool, humid depths of the cave. The opening resembles a bright eye getting smaller and smaller as the cave envelops you.
When the caves were first discovered, everything was submerged in darkness, but today all the cave's geologic oddities are on view thanks to modern lighting.
Your perception of time changes when you're down here. Everything you're looking at, stalactites, stalagmites, collapsed rubble, yawning openings, it all took thousands upon thousands of years to form. In the time it has taken for these geologic details to develop, civilizations have risen and crumbled dozens, even hundreds of times over. Artists have painted masterpieces, scientists have taken us to the moon, tyrants have arisen and been overthrown, all while the cave keeps forming and reforming themselves. The cave operates on its own timeline, one that until recently happily ignored the human presence.
Otherworldly is a word that tends to get overused, but I really think it is apt for the cave's interior. It's a wonderfully bizarre place, one that reminds me of documentaries I've watched on deep-sea environments that exist independently of sunlight. It is also a place that feels very old, very primeval as you descend further into it. You become very conscious of the fact that this is not your natural environment, that you are merely a visitor passing through.
Being a human with a worldview invariably influenced by culture, I couldn't help but find myself seeking human parallels in the all the strange formations I saw. Swirls of rock on the ground become analogous to medieval Celtic designs. Clusters of delicately serrated stalactites scattered along a rocky ceiling become the cousins of intricate Gothic arches and columns. The comfort and comprehension we seek through the recognizable becomes most readily apparent when confronted with the unfamiliar. I wasn't scared, just trying to make sense of all the wondrous things around me.
Eventually it was time to go, and this was perhaps the most magical part of the journey. Rather than take the elevator, where the line was at least an hour's wait and replete with rambunctious kids, I opted to walk out of the cave, physically arduous but infinitely more satisfying. As I approached the mouth of the cave, I turned a corner to see daylight for the first time in hours, overwhelming in its clarity and brightness. Here the camera captures the details that my eyes couldn't register at the time. Confronting that brightness made Plato's allegory of the cave that much more powerful. How right he was in choosing that metaphor to express the blinding, overwhelming, even terrifying power of enlightenment.
 |
| Coming into the light again. |
The experience of ascending the cave was aural as well as visual. As my eyes adjusted and began to discern new details, I also listened to the swallows nesting the the cave, chirping and singing to one another as they flipped in and out of the cave's mouth.
After a few more steps, I was back in the sunlight. I'd come full circle, descending from hot, dry light into cool, wet darkness, only to ascend back into light. It was an experience of opposites, but a very satisfying one.
A few days later, I ruminated on the cave through a drawing, a composite of all the geological wonders I had seen. I drew this sketch on white paper, but if I were to do a finished version of this I'd be more inclined to use black paper. After all, what you're essentially seeing is darkness punctuated by interventions of light.
I highly recommend visiting the cave if you get a chance. Whether you're a geologist, an artist, or something else, it's a moving experience to confront something that exists so far out of your everyday norm.
Woodbury, the deepest cave in America is Carlsbad. -DAC
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