Last week I ventured out into the wild landscapes and tiny suburbs of the Southwest. We (the small gray car, my chariot, the Grey Lady, and I) raced like wild horses past picket and metal fences, lattices, dusty bridges. Over underpasses and under overpasses.
Along the way: the Bochasanwasi Akshar Purushottam Swaminarayan Akshardham. The largest Hindu Temple in the Western Hemisphere. The second largest in the world. Robbinsville, New Jersey.
The temple was originally concieved by one of the BAPS leaders in 1984; by 2023 the final stone of the building was laid. Just down the road, after you whisk past beautiful arched intricate domes, ornamental gold tops, thousands of columns which seem to only serve aesthetic purpose, is a normal-looking Wawa. Further beyond that is a Hilton Hotel.
Miracles do not happen every day. Miracles do not happen very often at all. Miracles are often entirely man-made.
The butterfly, which perches onto a small leaf, carefully prim? It's a copycat, a company man, a byproduct of millions of years of natural trial and error. Not a happy accident but a carefully developed specimen.
The BAPS temple, on the other hand, is a wonder in and of itself. It resembles the detail rendered in the most gothic of castles. Each stone (57,000 cubic meters of it) was carefully carved not by specialized craftsment but mostly volunteers. Around 12500 to be exact. Those who did not have former training in this discipline were taught. Between the original purchase of the land (2008) it only took 15 years to construct.
I think what I am trying to say is to look beyond the treetops and out into the fields and to pay attention to things other than the Wawas and Hotels. I'm not going to tell you good exists in this world. I am going to say that miracles do. The two are not necessarily connected. And next time to find beyond those treetops the hint of sparkling gold and gleaming white stone.
