Something In This Place

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All the great realities that we can’t touch or see take form on ground that we can touch and see.
— Eugene Peterson, The Pastor: A Memoir

Newborn mornings on Lagrange Bayou are soaked in the sacred. Mist hovers inches above the surface of the deep. Osprey soldier atop moss-draped cypress trees. Rain minnows strive to raise ruckus, but barely earn a ripple. Calm.

My father's outboard motor's hum is as native to my mental soundscape as the shrill caw-caw of seagulls signaling flat-schooling shiners. Fishing was my father's book of Proverbs. It taught me what I needed to know. 

I wonder if, long ago, Natives performed their rituals - healing ceremonies; rites of passage - along these shores. Perhaps, they discerned the Divine in this place and conjured it in their holy ways. Some spots, where a cellophane layer of awareness segregates this reality and the-even-more-real reality, are fertile soil for soul growth.

Something happened along these shores. Certainly, something happened to me along these shores. Perhaps, something happens along all shores, and we like Jacob fail to realize that God is in this place. This place. Shores or no shores at all.

I enjoyed this song as I wrote this post. Please, enjoy it as well and leave a comment below with your thoughts about a place that is sacred to you and why it seems so.

"You take me in; you lead me out. What a journey walking with you God. From the mountain to the valley... Your Presence always covers me" (Jason Upton).

 

 

 

 

Tommy Brown5 Comments