A Wrinkle in Time

The pyramids of Tikal enchant me. They seem to glow with an ancient, kind wisdom, unlike the brutality of the Pyramid of the Sun (Aztec) or the lethal intelligence of Chichen Itza (Inca). Most of us on the Bus Tour take off to the western jungle, for there, perched on a distant mountain, towers a pyramid that rises above all, inspiring awe.

We wend our way through wide jungle paths. The hike up the mountain is twisting and arduous, and I exult in every step. And then at last - at last - I reach the summit of the crumbling pyramid.

I step out onto the pyramid's ledge.

My breath slips away in awe. In every direction, as far as the eye can see, the jungle flows into the horizon like an ocean, blue-green and mist-laden. In the distance, several pyramids regally rise from the forest, as though ancient guardians to a deep secret. I feel like I'm soaring over the world.

And so I take a seat there, atop of the world, and let my mind fall into repose. In places so majestic, I feel a deep connection with time. I ponder the great Mayan civilization that built this all, this thriving city, and now not a trace remains but crumbling stones, here to entertain little visitors like me.

I feel my own mortality pressing against my little chest up here on this pyramid. I am but a wrinkle in time in the vast fabric of the universe.

Radhanath Swami often says that humility is simply accepting the truth: we are insignificant, just a microscopic dot in the cosmos. It would be depressing if it weren't for the fact that we have a loving relationship with God.

And what could be more significant than that?