The Return of the Light at the Sun Tunnels
In which we journey out to the Sun Tunnels on the winter solstice to watch an every day occurrence and I send a message to the Universe.
Last week a friend called me and asked, “What you are you doing next Saturday?” I had parties to go to, I had cookies to make, I had art to make. I hemmed, I hawed.
“Want to go to the sun tunnels with me for solstice?”
Say yes. Don’t let those other things stop you from seeing a temple in the desert. Don’t let life stand in the way of living. Don’t forget a miracle happens every day the sun rises. What are you here for if not to experience the majesty of it all, and especially something so incredibly magical as the sun rising? Please please I tell myself, just continue to be amazed that the world keeps spinning and you are here to witness it.
It took me days to respond for fear that my social calendar was too full, that I would be too drained. She thought I was going to say no, but I surprised even myself, and said yes. Why did it take me so long to say yes?
But this isn’t actually a post about saying yes or no to life, or friends, or requests, or the ifs, whys, and shoulds of it all. It’s a post about every day miracles.
On Friday night my friend Melissa and I get in the car and drive to Wendover, a strange town on the border of Utah and Nevada. A town split in half by an imaginary line, where once you cross it from Utah, there is immediately a casino or three. Wendover keeps Utah in check, as does Vegas. These towns serve as a reminder that there are all sorts of ways to live and that some people really like to be in a casino at 5 am. I’m grateful for that, because if everyone liked what I liked, we would all be in a giant pile moving around together, reading the same books, drinking up all the earl grey tea, biking the same trails, and making a pilgrimage to way out into the desert to see 4 concrete tunnels to watch the sun rise, even though it does so every day.
We stayed in a hotel, drank wine out of plastic cups, and meant to go to bed early. Adult slumber parties really are underrated, we should revisit this. Our alarms go off at 5 am. We lay in bed for a few minutes before we get up and leave, driving out into empty desert in the pitch black, me clutching onto a cup of half hot chocolate and half coffee. The hot beverage was a risky gamble considering there are no services after Wendover, a spotty signal at best, no signs, no bathrooms even, but I couldn’t say no, because what a delight it was.
Even though both of us have lived in Utah for a long time (20 years now for me, and even longer for her), neither of us have made it to Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels, which were made in the 1970s before I was even born. A gross negligence I am realizing. Again, why did it take me so long to say yes?
The tunnels are 4 concrete tubes set in a cross formation and perfectly aligned to view the sunrise and sunset of both the winter and summer solstices through the tunnels’ cores. Each tunnel is further adorned with holes drilled into the sides to represent the constellations of Draco, Perseus, Columba, and Capricorn, so when the sun has risen, it casts sun rays through the holes and inside the tunnels.
To get there is a journey. It’s over 3.5 hours from Park City and still 1.5 hours from Wendover, hence the 5 am wake up call. We have to do math the night before to confirm we are leaving in time to make it for a 7:58 am sunrise.
As we drive, I notice that there are soft, low-lying clouds, but also stars. This feels like a good sign for a brilliant sunrise, because soft, wispy clouds make for spectacular color. We pass through a town Google has told us has a gas station, but as we approach it is clear the gas station hasn’t been open in a while and there will be no bathroom breaks. I tell my bladder to hold fast. Continuing on, we notice the first bit of light on the horizon and I wonder if we have left early enough. It would be sad to miss the moment after coming all this way.
It is still mostly dark though when we pull off the pavement and onto the washboard dirt road. There are no signs, but we’ve got printed directions and there are other cars driving in the same direction ahead and behind us - a sure sign that we are on the right track, for why else would anyone be out in this desolate place at 6:30 am. A pair of gleaming green eyes crosses the road in front of us and as we draw closer, we see it is a fox who bounds off into the dormant, dry bushes, likely on the hunt for breakfast. The low lying clouds turn pink. The first rays of light reflect into the atmosphere.
We have no idea what to expect or how many people will be there, and it is still dark enough when we arrive that we don’t know exactly where they are until we see a group of cars parked behind them. And then a headlight flashes on the tunnels and I realize they are bigger than I expected. For some reason, I thought you would have to crawl through them. But no, they are tall enough for a horse to walk through, and you could easily sleep inside watching the stars shift beyond through concrete portals.
We arrive just as the first people are making their way to prepare for THE PHOTO - the moment at which the sun peeks above the horizon and blasts through two of the four tunnels. I am trying not to use gun barrel metaphors here, but that is what keeps coming to me, as though I will be shot through the heart with sunlight. And in fact, that is ultimately what happens when the first rays of the day hit me square in the chest, my heart beating rapidly, responding with joy.
A gathering has converged now, cold and bundled up, with tripods and mugs of coffee. Smart photogs set up their camera and walk away with a remote in hand so they can stand clear of the small mob but still capture the image. I am wandering around, walking through tunnels, trying to envision the moment, waiting, pacing, swinging my hands to warm up my fingers. I cannot stand still, perhaps from excitement, or cold, or just an aversion to being in the middle of a crowd. I vow to just watch the sunlight change on the clouds and keep my hands in my pockets until the moment comes. I tell myself I am being in the moment, but really I know I am saving my hands from the cold for the moment to come.
People are so nice if you allow them to be, and I am pleased that the promise I made to myself to stop “hating on people” is working. A bad habit to be sure, and one I am working to rectify. Everyone around us is a delight. We cheerily chat as regular devotees of the sun tunnels show us pictures from years before, photogs share their tips, we watch dogs play in the dirt, and we hand off our phones to each other -“Will you take a photo of me? Of us?” Next. “#7 it’s your turn in the sun tunnels,” someone jokes.
It was like a New Year’s countdown. We brace for the moment and when it comes, a glorious sunrise spills out over the distant mountains blinding us through the tunnels. I put my sunglasses on and hold steady against the light, my heart thudding like a happy dog’s tail. I pray for the dawn to warm my hands, placing them out into the light asking for a benediction. Bless me dear sun, life giver. Bless us dear sun, light bringer.
We take our photos, my 60 new best friends and me, all lovers of natural phenomenons, of everyday experiences, of mundane miracles. Because truly, the fact that we are here at all, that the sun exists and provides heat and light, that our planet is located just the right distance away with all the water and elements necessary for life - it is truly a miracle, something completely inexplicable. And yet it happens every day.
This is a good time to insert a prayer, or a poem, or a song.
Did you know the sun does this every day? Arriving at dawn and following us throughout our lives, making plants grow, winds blow, rains fall, and then dipping below the horizon to let us rest and dream. Every day it’s done this, without fail, my entire life. It’s incredible.
As the sun rises higher in the sky and outside the purview of the tunnels, our friends return to their cars, some departing right away to warm up with their seat heaters and perhaps a breakfast buffet in Wendover. We leave 15 minutes later, our bladders urging us on for there are no trees for miles, no giant bushes to hide behind. We return the way we came and make a stop at Starbucks inside the Nugget for breakfast and a bathroom break. I can’t say no to an oat milk London Fog, no sweetener, for life is a series of contradictions and contrast, spectacular events followed up by a need for sustenance. Our bladders and our bellies remind us of our human nature after all.
It’s all an endless parade of miracles and the mundane, where awe can sit side by side with you on your commute, and wonder can find you while you eat your lunch. For a generous hour we stood amongst a crowd of people we’ll never see again and witnessed something spectacular. I never got their names, but I am grateful for those strangers’ kindness, smiles, and joy, while watching a miracle huddled together, shivering in the cold.
I don’t know the meaning of life. I suspect it has something to do with love. I think it has to do with connection to each other. Mostly though, I think it has to do with experience, with just being here as a witness to everything around you, of being yourself and then looking at the world through your very own unique lens.
I think the meaning of life has a lot to do with the fact that there are so many different ways of living and we can try on any of them on for size, choosing along the way, what we like and what we don’t, sifting and sorting, growing and learning, changing and adapting, watching and learning. But I think the key is that we are all different, for if the sunrise was exactly the same each and every day, we might grow bored with it and stop waking up in time to watch and see it for the miracle that it is.
The Sun Tunnels are not magic, but are perhaps a portal in a sense, a gateway to a different place and a new state of mind. No two sunrises are the same. And every day is completely unique and different - a chance to see the mundane for something miraculous. A reminder that if you are not awed, then you are not looking hard enough. A nudge to notice and report on what you find incredible.
I did not get any new downloads from the Universe while there. There were no profound messages like I had in the labyrinth last month. Instead, I sent the Universe a message:
I am sorry it took me so long to say yes.
But I am here, I am watching, I am paying attention.
Happy Solstice. Happy return of the light. Happy Holidays.
If you’d like to learn more about the Sun Tunnels and Nancy Holt’s many works of land art:
Sun Tunnels via the Holt Smith Foundation
Please remember that if you chose to journey out to the Sun Tunnels you need to be prepared. There are no services, no gas, no bathrooms, and no signal. Be self-sufficient and leave no trace. To many this is sacred ground, please treat it with respect.
Thank you for sharing that experience. So beautiful.
Just beautiful in so many ways!