Scared. Or Sacred. Only one letter switched around makes the difference.
I get scared often. I am scared of strangers, scared of crowds, scared of guns, scared of the plight of our planet, scared of pythons, scared of people who let their dogs off leash and my dog who is part chow is then at risk, scared of drones, scared of public agencies without compassion – the list is endless. Boring, and endless. It just goes on and on.
And on. And on. You just could not believe all the shit that scares me. When I’m not terrified, I actually think it’s pretty funny.
Sacred. I believe, in my better moments, that everything is sacred in some mysterious way. When I am scared, all I have to do is to remember the sacred. And it shifts the fear.
My father used to say that believing in God was a crutch, that somehow it meant giving up one’s critical thinking, or rationality, or even one’s independence perhaps. For me, all that stays the same. The plight of our planet, our people who live in poverty and terror, people who have their property blown up in W Va, or fracked in PA…. all that stays the same. Elephants still get slaughtered. But to somehow see through all of that to the sacred that lies beyond, to see the intricate interdependence of all matter, though all time and all space, to see into the heart of God… or even better, to feel the heart of God, to touch that pure source of Love… and let it touch me….
It’s transformative. And that word just doesn’t come fucking close! It’s a mystic thing, what can I say.
So, because I have unilaterally declared the Willamette River to be Holy, Eric and I plan a trip to the source of the river, to Waldo Lake and the streams that feed her, sometime early this Fall. A symbolic pilgrimage to the Source.
I’ll report back.