Being Brain Dead in The Deep Woods

Elegantly designed human made structures juxtaposed against wilderness beauty have a certain appeal to most folks; the elegance of good architecture contrasting with the wild, chaotic elegance of the natural world, bringing us closerto nature, connecting us to it. (Bearing in mind that both the man made and natural are, ultimately, "natural", and that our distinguishing between the two, purely arbitrary, and categorical.) Only when the human construction becomes too big, too imposing, does the impact get ruined. And only when there is too much construction, too many buildings, too little wilderness. The chapel is made of mostly glass, with polished rock floors, and stained wood support pillars, and surrounded entirely by wooded slopes of deciduous trees. The tress burst into flames in the fall, and light green ambiance emerges each spring. The building was designed by renowned architect Fay Jones, who was a student of Frank Loyd Wright, and built in 1971. Services are held there regularly, and thousands of people have gotten married there; you couldn't want for a more perfect setting to exchange wedding vows. Its also a tourist attraction, set deep within the Ozark mountains. You can enter the chapel, sit, and reflect. There is no time limit. You instantly feel compelled to be silent, or to only whisper, as if you are ensconced within a magnificent, decorus, stained glass cathedral. You only want to sit, think, and give thanks. When we exited, calm and tranquil, the lady with whom I attened said: "I want to take a selfie standing on that rock over yonder". I felt compliant, oblivious, cooperative. She was referring to a large jutting rock overhanging a cliff not far behind the pulpit, framed against rolling hills, easily seen through the glass building, the glass kept impeccably clean, (unlike my dirt stained windows at home). So we began to walk around to the rear of the chapel, along a gravel path. We ignored the sign, which could not have been more obvious, which read: "Do not go beyond this point". Legal liability, the possibility of serious injury or death. Almost immediately from the chapel came the lady who monitored the front desk, saying: "You can't go beyong this point!". Horrifed, I glanced at the sign, which, had it been a snake, would have bitten me. Maybe I'm too accustomed to ignoring signs generally, since most of them are merely advertising. I apologize three times, scolded at myself, and notified the official that, yes, I seem to have become "brain dead". My companion did similarly, and remarked: I feel like an idiot". I replied that not only did I fell like an idiot, that verifiably I am an idiot. The lady smiled graciously, forgivingly, but seemed a bit bemused, and even annoyed. She had every right. I plan to return to this special place one more time before I die, but not for awhile, and probably when I do, I'll be wearing a Groucho Marx nose and mustache. And I won't let myself fall prey to idiotic suggestions.