As I stood atop a large rock on a hill in Central Park, taking in the stunning skyline, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been there.
I wondered how many people had stood on that rock? How many people from how many different cultures, ethnicities, and backgrounds?
Since Central Park opened in 1857, millions of people have passed in and out of New York City, each contributing their own page or chapter to the multi-volume chronicle of the city that never sleeps. And although one page does not tell a whole story, the whole story does not make sense if it is missing a page. This makes me think again of the rock that I stood upon as the sun set once again behind the concrete jungle.
This single rock, so basic in nature, is vital to the park. It serves no purpose other than to be a big old rock, but it serves that purpose so well. As does the tree next to it. As does each blade of grass in the Great Lawn. As does each grain of dirt on each of the 26 baseball fields in Central Park.
Alone, they are simply occurances of nature. Alone, they have no meaning. Alone, they are nothing. But together, as a collective whole, the rocks, the trees, the grass, the dirt… They make something special, unique, and beautiful. Perhaps in this sense rocks are smarter than people…
As I meandered further through the park, that rock was still on my mind.
Although we saw much other beautiful wildlife and architecture, the simple beauty of that rock impacted me. Though not in the spotlight, that rock is important. And somehow, it seems like that rock understands that it is important. It’s not a beautiful bridge or a quaint pond, but that rock is a cog in the clockwork.
You can take whatever you may want from that rock’s story. I will spare you a cheesy conclusion addressing the state of mankind or philosophy or whatever else might apply. However, I encourage you to think about that rock and its humble role in the park.
And I guess I lied, because there was a cheesy ending to my stroll through Central Park after all.