Last Saturday, we drove deep into the Nantahala National Forest by way of Wayah Road. We followed the river into the mountains and soon disappeared beneath the thick canopy overhead. It was like being swallowed into a cave of foliage hanging all around us.

There wasn’t much light, even though it was a sunny day. Every now and then we caught a glimpse of sunlight spread out across a ridge in the distance, but the sun never shone down where we were. The cool and quiet shadows blanketed us like a perpetual twilight.

This is why the Cherokee called it Nantahala, the “land of the noon day sun.” Only in the summers at noonday, when the sun is at its highest arc in the sky, does some sunlight make its way deep into the narrow gaps between these mountains. Five and six thousand foot peaks that dwarf all those who stand in their midst.

I’m a mountain kind of guy. Not that I’m rugged. If you know me, please stop laughing. And it’s not that I have the spirit of Jeremiah Johnson in my bones. It’s just that when it comes to getting away for a little relaxation and contemplation, and if you were to offer me the beach or the mountains as my destination, I’m gonna choose the mountains every time.

I get why some like the beach. Long walks at sunrise or sunset. I’m not pooh-poohing on anybody’s opinion. I just happen to prefer the mountains.

There’s a sense of smallness that comes to a man when he is surrounded by mountains. I cannot stand in their presence and not notice it. There is an ancient power here harnessed by a divine strength that reaches down inside a man and leaves him humbled.

All he has to do is look around him.

I took Marion out for supper on Sunday evening and as we were driving back to the campground, we could see some of these massive peaks just beyond the smaller hills in front of us. In any direction, really. Out the window at the restaurant. Beyond the rooftop of the Ace Hardware. North toward Lake Santeetlah. We were surrounded by undulating ridges that kissed the sky.

“I don’t know about you,” I said to Marion, “but even if I lived here, I don’t think I would ever get tired of looking at these mountains.”

“I know what you mean,” she says. “But you can say that because you don’t live here.”

She’s probably right. If I saw these mountains every day for the rest of my life, I might not see them the same. The unacceptable notion is that I might not see them at all.

Let’s say that I meet a fella named Wyatt out in the parking lot at the Mexican restaurant. He’s a local. Been here his whole life. Born here over 40 years ago. Works over toward Bryson City and drives through these mountains every single day as he goes to work.

“Do you ever get tired of looking at that?” I ask Wyatt this question while pointing toward the mountain range north of town.

He gazes out toward where I’m pointing. “Tired of looking at what?” he says.

I point again with emphasis. “Looking at that,” I say enthusiastically.

“Oh you mean that mess around Carl’s house? Yeah, that’s a real eyesore.”

“No. Not that. The mountains! You ever get tired of seeing those magnificent mountains?”

“Huh?” he says. “I reckon I ain’t ever thought much about it.”

This is what I mean. We humans are capable of seeing without seeing. Our eyes take it in, but little more than something akin to a yawn registers in our soul. We look but nothing stirs inside us.

We live on auto-pilot, and we start missing the beauty of the world around us. We sit at the supper table and somehow fail to recognize the sacredness of family. We hold a child and don’t realize that we’re holding the very image of the Creator. We drive toward a sunrise and all we can think about is that we’re late for work.

I cannot imagine ever not seeing these mountains the way I have seen them the last few days. Sometimes I am speechless. Sometimes I just pull over off the side of the road. Sometimes I try but cannot find the words to describe them. And today, I realize that they stir something in me that should be a part of every day that I live.

The ancient Hebrew people had a word that maybe I need to reinsert into my vocabulary. “Behold,” they say. To behold something goes beyond just seeing something with the naked eye. It’s old-fashioned. I suspect that I’d get a lot of funny looks if I said something like, “Behold the child blowing bubbles in the park.”

But what I’d be saying is this. Don’t just look at the child. Rather see the beauty of her wonderful smile and the joy of her discovery in the bubbles that float away on each breath. Don’t miss the moment. Behold it. Let the marvel of her enchanted spirit sink into the way you grasp and imagine the world around you.

I guess that I’m contending for the idea that our five senses are not enough. You know what they are. Whether we’re in the mountains, or at the ocean, or at the park, or in the family room, or in church it’s not enough just to see what’s around us. It’s not enough just to feel it, or hear it, or touch it, or even taste it. Those sensory experiences are not telling the whole story. They’re not putting us in touch with everything we’re meant to understand in this life.

I’ve borrowed an idea and modified it a little bit. I can’t take credit for the concept, but here goes.

Beauty is to knowledge and experience what flavor is to food and drink.

Let that sink in.

Nobody likes a steak that has no flavor. It’s the flavor that causes me to smack my lips and swear this might be the best steak I’ve ever put in my mouth. I don’t get excited about food that has no flavor. But if the flavor is there, I don’t just eat the steak, I experience the steak. I am moved by that steak. Groans come from a place inside of me where words are inadequate.

Same goes for these mountains in the land of the noon-day sun. I know a little bit of how they were formed. That’s knowledge. I have hiked some of these trails. That’s experience. But the ingredient that makes it palatable is the beauty that comes from a sense of awe and wonder in a place like this. The earth rumbles. The creation bears witness. And I am connected to something Deeper than life itself.

My eyes are not as good as they used to be, but that doesn’t matter. When I behold such beauty, more than merely looking at it, I’m not really using my eyes any way.

Too dramatic? Maybe. I mean, it is just mountains.

Depends on how you look at it.