Such is the nature of “place” that you can only measure its impact after dwelling in it for a while, being quiet …. and listening.
“It is best, after long contemplation,” says the Garden of Emptiness, “to lend an ear in order to catch my voice, which has been stifled by so many days and nights, and so much talk, and noise. What am I saying, exactly? What silent words does this garden contain?
“I am nothing but blocks of stone on gravel and grass. I am nothing but weight and silence, inertia and density. Nothing will ever learn my secret, or even whether I contain one. The only thing that can penetrate me is the strident cry of the cicada that pierces the heart of summer. Be content to taste the raw beauty of my opaque flesh; look at me without saying a word and ask me nothing; be silent and try, through my hermetic body, to find yourself.”
You cannot anticipate the effect of locale on your actions and on the timbre of your voice, until you have dwelled in it. Only then do all the cuffs and flaps start opening for you.