Mountain of Light

I stand on the summit of the tallest mountain on the earth. Rising from over 19,000 feet on the ocean floor to almost 14,000 feet above sea level, the mighty Mauna Kea volcano is silent beneath my feet.
I look down on the clouds thousands of feet below me at a view usually reserved for airplane windows, a rolling sea of thick white brew, swirling the blinding white of sunlight with the deep purple of the shadows. The clouds surround the summit and stretch as far as the eye can see, creating their own horizon.
The hard, brick colored volcanic rock crunches as I walk. Before my ascent, my mind pictured a mountain summit as the tip-top of a peak, a sharp point to climb to, balance on, and drive a flag into. But the summit I stand on now is miles of barren red earth with many rounded peaks and sloping valleys punctuated by a winding ribbon of two-lane black road.
The wind is fierce and painful. I pull my hood over my beanie, secure my sunglasses and stuff my gloved hands deeper in my pockets. With the clouds below me, there is zero moisture in the air. My face stings from the wind and my skin tightens as it drys out. I pull out my chapstick and apply it to my lips, pause, and use it to coat my exposed nose and cheeks.
I walk to the edge of a steep decline. I look down on the landscape of peaks and valleys flowing downward in all directions, disappearing into the cloud ocean below. The orange-red earth (that will never be mistaken for soil) is devoid of plants. There are no animals, no insects. Not even the famous Hawaiian cockroach ventures to this inhospitable altitude.
I am here, along with a smattering of other high altitude pilgrims, to witness a spectacular event. An occurrence so amazing it inspires travelers from around the world to make this arduous journey to see it, even hiring tour companies to make sure they arrive at the right time and are positioned correctly. We stand reverently, speaking in hushed tones, and wait for sunset.
The air is thin and I feel my muscles conserving movement, working efficiently to squeeze the most out of every scarce oxygen molecule.
But my eyes are on hyper speed. I devour the vivid scene, viewing it through the distortion free, unfilter of ultra thin air. Unaltered by atmospheric interference, colors are vibrant and loud, shouting their over saturation. The edges of shapes are razor sharp and cut dramatic, oversized shadows in the red earth. This world is assailing me in high definition and my senses are drunk with color and texture.
The summit landscape is dotted with observatories housing some of the most technologically advanced telescopes on earth. I am sharing the ground of scientists, governments and educational institutions who determined Mauna Keas super-thin atmosphere is ideal for astronomical study. I am only a mere stargazer.
The telescopes are housed in observatories of assorted shapes and sizes - from the iconic half-round domes, to an enormous white cylinder with rotating curtains sheathing the telescope inside, to freeform shapes resembling giant chrome snail shells.
The effect is surreal, otherworldly. I am sci-fi transported to a red rock world floating in a churning sea of clouds. I cant convince myself I am still on planet earth. I turn and look at our silver Jeep parked in the shadow of a small dome, thinking it will tether me to reality but in this scene, it looks more like a Mars rover than a rental car.
I look down at the ground and my shadow stretches thirty feet from my toes to halfway up a red slope. Sunset is near.
I turn with the scattering of my fellow adventurers and face due west. Couples stand close. Parents pull their children in front of them and wrap them in snug arms.
Some sit on the hard ground in groups, pulling their knees to their chest and huddling together. My husband reaches in my pocket to hold my hand. Silently we stand. Motionless, we all watch the sacred ritual of bright yellow rays stretching across the sky.
It begins gently, a gold ball of light brushing the soft horizon of lavender clouds. The intensity builds as the sun begins to dip from view, slowly transforming itself to polished, shining bronze. Its rays are visible beacons shooting into the violet sky.
Half gone, the sun is pure fire now. It is the red of licking flame, the orange white glow of hot embers. The cloud tips reflect the fire and dance upwards from misty shadows of royal purple and metallic blues.
I stand transfixed. I remind myself to breathe. I am shivering, but I no longer notice the cold. I am hypnotized by the power of the spectacle, the extreme size and scale of the event.
The sun is only a sliver now, its deep red disc sliding too quickly below the surface of the shadowed clouds. The summit is awash in a watercolor red glow. Faces are sunburn pink. Unnatural hues tint clothes and cars as the red light mixes with the man-made colors. The white domes of the observatories blush cotton candy pink against the Chinese red of the volcanic earth.
The event is extraordinary. It is energy and reverence. It is a raw inferno and exquisite beauty. It is earthly creation and heavens glory. It is passion and splendor. It is riotous and joyful.
And without fanfare or hesitation, it is gone.
I stare at the spot where the sun sent its last shaft of light into the sky. I am still quiet, still solemn. Someone begins to clap and we all join in, applauding, cheering and beating our gloved hands together in a chorus of muted thump-thumps. I am released from the spell and start to laugh. I hug my husband and he kisses me then squeezes me tight. We start to talk at the same time.



The light fades quickly now with the colors racing to follow. The eastern sky is already a royal blue velvet, transitioning from a bright sky afire to a sky ablaze with pinpoint lights. The temperature drops twenty degrees to near freezing and a cool bluish cast replaces the red glow.
I am very cold now and my nose is running. I turn to head back to the warm cocoon of the car and my waiting travel mug filled with steaming coffee. Around me, my fellow observers are laughing, talking excitedly, as they head toward their vehicles. We are giddy witnesses, compelled to try and capture what we have just experienced.
Even before the sky fades from blue to black, the observatories awaken, opening heavy eyelids of rolling roofs to the sky. Astronomers aim precision optics and their instruments probe deep into the heavens, hundreds of light years away, looking for answers to the mysteries of the universe and even the source of life itself.
Their efforts seem feeble and vain, even insignificant. They devote their lives to stars and planets millions of miles away, but the answers they seek are within, closer than their own breathing. If they would turn and look inward they would realize that deep within our soul, God implanted an link, a connection that by default correlates what we see in creation with the God who created it.
The Bible says,
That they may see and recognize
And consider and gain insight as well
That the hand of the Lord has done this
And the holy one of Israel has created it
Isaiah 41.20
Many will spend their lives silencing or ignoring this association but whether we admit it or not, whether we acknowledge it or not, does not alter the fact that it is there.
The crowd I stood with on Mauna Kea made the trek to the summit to watch a sunset famous for its beauty and clarity. I am sure many faiths and religions were represented in the crowd that gathered. Some probably hadnt thought about God in years. Others may have spent considerable time and effort denying His existence and still there are some who actively work to refute God and all He stands for.
But in the face of such a spectacular display of creation, a hush covered the crowd as a whole. The witnesses to this primal event became quiet, reverent. Children stood still. Few spoke and then only is short whispers and always without looking away from the sunset colors in front of them.
No one directed them to stand silently in awe. No one shushed them and said Quiet please, God at work. It was a natural response to what was before them the glory of the God of creation.
And no one orchestrated the applause and cheers. No cue cards directed those on the mountain to give God glory, now. It is their internal programming that compels them to recognize Gods handiwork and praise Him for it. Their spontaneous outburst was evidence that the association of creation to Creator is always seeking an outlet, driving those on the summit to acknowledge, if even unknowingly, the God of the universe.

It is written,
That men may know from the rising to the setting of the sun
that there is no one besides Me.
I am the Lord, and there is no other
The One creating light and creating darkness
I am the Lord who does all these.

Isaiah 45.6-7
I have heard people say they will believe in God when they can see Him. A trip to the top of a volcano would be a good place to start.

Written by Jody Ward