Somewhere about the age of 14 I started falling in love with mountains, winter winds, and falling leaves. Not sure why this combination is so romantic but, it was, and it is still. I could sit in awe for hours smiling brightly at how beautiful I believed it was, and how special I felt to be sitting there inside it. God is good, I think, and magnificent, majestic, and all the other words meaning revered. On one occasion a leaf transfixed me as it fell and found itself caught in a twist, on the winter breeze. The wind whipped it high for a moment, and then let it drift slowly down right in my face. I was reaching up to grab it when the breeze took it back into flight and started it further down the land. I tried to keep it in sight, and stood to follow; but, it was gone. I never saw it again. I was a little curious and little sad for the little leaf that had to disappear from its family of leaves on the big tree behind me. This is what it means to live, and from the moment we breathe life for the first time we know that this is just the beginning of the cycle. The leaf itself is sacred, not perhaps to me, but to someone –maybe its creator?
As I got older I didn’t spend as much time watching leaves as I used to do. My time became consumed with boys, and the pursuit thereof. Here I was again; I could sit for hours in awe smiling brightly at how beautiful and more beautiful these boys were. How special I felt to get my first kiss, and how special it was to make love for the first time. All was magical fire, and fumbling passion. God is good, I thought, and magnificent and majestic and all other words meaning revered. On more than one occasion I was transfixed on a boy here and there, and I just knew this would last forever. Like the falling leaf so were many tears I let dry, in the cool breeze of fall, winter, spring, and summer. Whipped high in emotional cyclones of he said she said, and nights alone gasping for air --- waiting for the sun to come. I tried to keep it in sight, love and hope, but the searing pain of a broken heart often dulled my senses. This is what it means to live. From the moment we breathe life for the first time we are told this is just the beginning of the cycle. Love itself is sacred, not perhaps now, while you feel the pain of a broken heart, but soon you will see love is eternal – like that from the creator.
Not too many years ago, when my son was four years of age, I lost him at an arcade. My heart was whipped high into a frenzy of panic as I searched for my son. I looked, and searched everywhere; but, he was gone. I was again, struck in awe but not because of any natural beauty I had found in the world; how could I have lost him? How could I, and I knew then all was not magical or breathe taking beauty; all was not awe inspiring joy and endless mountains or winter breezes; all was endless mononty and dreaded days; life itself seemed not sacred. My time had become consumed with a failing marriage, a back breaking job, and a hopeless mountain of bills. This is what means to lose the sacred. This is what it means to live life, me taking my first genuine breath of life – this was it for the first time understanding the meaning of sacred. Any foolish distractions I had were gone. I lost sight of my son, and getting him back was all that mattered. Upstairs officers were waiting for just such an occasion, and everywhere I looked there were doors a murderer could abscond with my son. No more waiting I had to report he was missing. The escalators seemed to lead to darkness, but this was my ride. The little voice behind me saved me that dark path. “Mamma, you’re gonna leave without me?” The sacred had returned, and I was healed.
One year after I had been saved from darkness at the mall it returned; my mother died. She had a long battle with kidney disease, and through a miracle she received a kidney. We were all very excited. A week after her surgery, she took her first long walk by herself in three years, she came home happy, and went to bed. My father found her the next day, and through the most strangled tears of anguish told me she passed away in her sleep. God is good.
Why do I say that?
This is what it means to live, and from the moment we breathe life for the first time we know that this is just the beginning of the cycle. This has been a lifelong lesson, and I am still learning it. When I lost the leaf I wondered about the sacred. When I lost my heart, after years of heartbreaking relationships, I wondered about the possibility of the sacred. When I replaced my hope with bitterness; I lost the secret of the sacred and more accurately wondered if it had ever existed at all! When I lost my son I lost everything, in mere seconds, I lost the will to live. I regained the knowledge of the sacred with the miracle of his voice. I pray never to lose it again.
I can see clearly that we will all discover what is after this, but I do not doubt the sacred. I am the sacred, to my mother, my daughters, and my sons. I am the sacred to my father.
It is nightmarish to live on past, that which is sacred. It’s not fair. I pray that you can remember when all is dark, you are also the sacred and there are those of us who sit in awe for hours, smiling brightly, wondering at your beauty; magnificent, majestic, and all the other words meaning revered.
Created: Oct 10, 2010Document Media