By Sandy MacDonald

If it’s been ages since you trudged the halls of the venerable Museum of Natural History — an imposing Victorian Gothic behemoth built in 1874 and since swallowed up by a score of accreted additions — it’s time to return. The offending statue of nature-lover (sometime despoiler) Teddy Roosevelt, flanked by subservient attendants of other races, was exiled to North Dakota a year ago. The sweet little westerly park in his name remains.

It’s here that you can gain easy access to the museum’s brand-new Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation (it’s a mouthful) without being understandably distracted by the signature trio of towering dinosaur skeletons in the main hall. (Good luck detaching any preschoolers in your party from those totemic power figures!)

The museum as a whole was originally an offshoot of the patently eugenicist Agassiz Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard, which has been arduously PCifying its collection – as has the AMNH. The glorious new wing, however, is unlikely to offend anyone – except perhaps purists who prefer their head trips chemically induced. (More on that later. Post-visit, we’re having trouble focusing.)

The swooping structure, clad inside and out via a fast-hardening, Carvel-like substance called “shotcrete,” looks like something a toddler might cook up with a limitless supply of magic sand. (Caution: The surface is s a bit friable – don’t lean against a wall while wearing dark clothing.)  In all likelihood, you’ll make a beeline up the tiered atrium to visit the “Invisible Worlds” dome, where a anteroom plaque declaring our universal interconnectedness – scientists catch up with the mystics! – presages for the spectacular 12-minute aural/visual/kinetic experience within.

I won’t synopsize, because truly, you have to be there, time-traveling through the progression from one-celled organisms to the immense complexity of humans’ place in the universe. You, personally, will turn out to be a key part of this chain: the floor responds digitally to your every movement. It’s possible to walk in stone-cold sober and solo, without even the pretext of a school group to escort, and undergo a cosmic experience easily the rival of your most vivid technicolor hallucinations.

As a lagniappe, be sure to visit the butterfly vivarium, as potent as Valium for anyone longing to escape, momentarily, the chaos of the city. “Neither do they toil,” these technicolor beauties – though they do spin (check out the array of chrysalides, dangling behind a viewing panel like that of a maternity ward). Ten minutes in this soothing tropical sanctuary, observing these dazzling beauties as they feast on rotten fruit and encircle you, debating whether to alight, and the reset is complete. You’ll be ready to re-emerge in the metropolitan maw — refreshed, re-connected, and inspired.

Sandy MacDonald  is a travel writer and theatre critic. A Nantucket summerer for 25 years, she  divides her time between the island and New York City. Her website is www.sandymacdonald.com and she is currently contributing to NewYorkStageReview.com.