I was on a hike with a friend of mine once. We were up Rock Creek, a drainage of California's Owens River. The granite cliffs yawned thousands of feet above our heads in all directions, encrusted with flaming orange and neon green crustose lichens, creeklets vaulting in crashing cascades, the sun, the crisp air - it was a symphony of mountain flavors.
We were both moved by the gestalt of the experience. Divine.
I said something like, "Gee. Everything here is so big and I feel so small." It's a cliche. People say this kind of thing in places like Upper Rock Creek quite frequently. My friend listened to me and then she was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke.
"I don't feel small here at all. The dimensions are just right. We are as big as we are. And this place is as big as it is. It's supposed to be this big and we are just the right size."
I felt lovingly corrected. She was right.
We humans spend so much of our time in manufactured landscapes, especially made for us - complete with cup holders and seat heaters - that we lose touch with the reality of life on Earth. We are in relationship with the rest of the vast, wondrous, numinous creation. We're not the main part of the show.
We're just people.