In the Presence of Mountains - Feeling Small, Yet Held

As the plane descended into Denver, I noticed the Snowy Range stretching quietly across the horizon. I wasn't expecting to feel anything in particular. Yet something emerged before words. A wave of warmth rose within me. My eyes teared up. There was a deep yearning, difficult to name, suddenly flowing through my body.

What a spectacular sight!

The snowy mountains in Colorado felt very different from those I encountered in Sichuan. Both were stunning, though in their own ways. In Colorado, the clear blue sky, grasses and meadows, dry wind, and endless highways all contributed to a sense of vastness and desolation. In Sichuan, majestic peaks, crystal-clear lakes, alpine plants, humid air, and flourishing ecosystems created something more condensed, vibrant, and abundant.

Perhaps the beauty of snowy mountains does not lie in the mountains alone. It lies in the harmony surrounding them - in the way everything belongs together and relates to one another.

What moved me was not a single object, but a world.

Protection Without Predictability

Snowy mountains made me feel protected, though not because they are predictable.

Quite the opposite.

They are often associated with danger. Avalanches can occur. Many mountain regions lie within seismic zones. Their beauty coexists with fragility and risk.

Paradoxically, we feel protected not because the mountains obey us, but because they don't. They simply exist, beyond us and independent of us. And perhaps precisely because of that, they offer a kind of ontological support. Their presence reminds us that not everything needs to revolve around human concerns. Something larger, older, and more enduring continues to exist.

Protection does not always come from control. Sometimes, it comes from being held by something we do not possess. Perhaps feeling at home in the world does not always mean occupying a place. Perhaps it means allowing ourselves to belong to something larger.

Feeling Small, Feeling Held

In contrast to such immense mountains, we are undeniably small. Yet the sense of smallness did not lead me to despair. Instead, it brought a strange tenderness.

My problems did not disappear. The world remained uncertain and complicated. But in the presence of the mountains, my feelings no longer demanded immediate solutions. They simply had space to be. And somehow, they felt held.

Perhaps awe emerges from this contrast. We encounter something vastly greater than ourselves, and instead of being diminished, we are allowed to rest from our own importance.

Perhaps that is why snowy mountains have evoked longing and reverence across cultures. Long before I understood their symbolic meanings—spirituality, transcendence, or sacredness—something in me had already responded. 

Existential Analysis speaks of discovering meaning through emotions rather than constructing it through intellectual work. Looking back, I realize that my body understood something before my mind did. 

And perhaps some meanings are felt long before they are understood.