Everyone has a place that's sacred to them, and every place there is, is sacred to someone.
Some people find the sacred in buildings set aside for it -- churches and cathedrals, mosques and synagogues, temples and shrines.
Others feel it in things of beauty, or of deep meaning to them -- a musician in the sound of a symphony, an artist in her paints.
Others still find it in nature -- the deep green woods, the sweeping plains, the heights of the mountains.
That's me, nature girl that I am. And when I really need to renew, refresh, re-start, I head outside. And I wanted to celebrate this.
I've been thinking a lot about altars recently -- go ahead and read those links, I'll still be here when you get back -- and the two ideas came together Wednesday, as I hiked the woods of Evansburg Park here in Worcester.
The path I walked is a mile loop, long enough to lose myself for a while. And when the mood took me, when it felt right, I stopped to build an altar.
I built them under trees and on stumps, on cut branches and logs and stones.
I used what I found within arms' reach or a few steps, chose what caught my eye and lingered in my hands. Moss and stones and nuts and feathers, twigs and leaves and the earth itself.
I was drawn especially to the logs and cut stumps -- wanting, perhaps, to heal the scars left in the earth.
I don't know if any of them are still there. I suspect that some, at least, have already been carried off by the wind, or by opportunistic squirrels.
It doesn't matter. They're not there for posterity. It was the making of them that was important, not their permanence or the lack of it.
Where do you find the sacred? And do you build altars?
Monday, February 13, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Today they were helping with the photography...only not.
Helpful cats are helpful. (Emily's been sleeping in there daily. For weeks. The cat hair doesn't bear thinking about.)
(Also note the mess. That's been handled, at least. The cats, not so much.)
Note the cranktastic ears. Also the thoroughness with which she's embedded herself into the cables. I'm not even sure how she did that. (Or how she got out afterwards without bringing it all with her.)
YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE THE FLASHY THING. IN MY FACE. MOM. THIS IS UNCOOL.
Bless em. (or is that 'bless their hearts'?)
(Also note the mess. That's been handled, at least. The cats, not so much.)
Note the cranktastic ears. Also the thoroughness with which she's embedded herself into the cables. I'm not even sure how she did that. (Or how she got out afterwards without bringing it all with her.)
YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE THE FLASHY THING. IN MY FACE. MOM. THIS IS UNCOOL.
Bless em. (or is that 'bless their hearts'?)
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
He's a big help. Just ask him.
And for once, I'm not talking about Loiosh.
Apparently I needed to sort my jars of herbs and infusions.
...or at least they all needed to be moved. Riley was very careful with each jar, and a good thing, too, because I was mostly laughing too hard to catch anything if he'd dropped it.
Note his sippy cup, placed carefully among my herbs.
He helped with the filing, too. (I guess the sippy cup is an important part of the whole 'helping' process.)
Wow, do I love that kid. Best Nephew Ever.
Apparently I needed to sort my jars of herbs and infusions.
...or at least they all needed to be moved. Riley was very careful with each jar, and a good thing, too, because I was mostly laughing too hard to catch anything if he'd dropped it.
Note his sippy cup, placed carefully among my herbs.
He helped with the filing, too. (I guess the sippy cup is an important part of the whole 'helping' process.)
Wow, do I love that kid. Best Nephew Ever.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Samson, Redux
No great revelations here, and it's not a year yet since he passed, but I found some pictures of Samson that I wanted to share.
Buddy's Bar-B-Q, down in Knoxville, delivers their various meals in lovely boxes shaped like (and the perfect size for) kitty houses. Wade had at one of them with a box knife to add a door and some windows for my boys, and they all enjoyed it, but Samson? He loved the thing.
It was his hidey-hole, his Sekrit Lair. He'd lurk inside, burst out to ambush Loiosh or Chocolate. Or he'd just curl up inside and pretend the rest of the world (especially those humans) wasn't there. It was his safe place, and his favourite napping spot.
I miss my Samson. I wish Emily had gotten to meet him, too. I think he'd've loved her just as much as he loved Loiosh.
Buddy's Bar-B-Q, down in Knoxville, delivers their various meals in lovely boxes shaped like (and the perfect size for) kitty houses. Wade had at one of them with a box knife to add a door and some windows for my boys, and they all enjoyed it, but Samson? He loved the thing.
It was his hidey-hole, his Sekrit Lair. He'd lurk inside, burst out to ambush Loiosh or Chocolate. Or he'd just curl up inside and pretend the rest of the world (especially those humans) wasn't there. It was his safe place, and his favourite napping spot.
I miss my Samson. I wish Emily had gotten to meet him, too. I think he'd've loved her just as much as he loved Loiosh.
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