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What is sacred?

I stand under a muted moon.  She is hiding beneath the veil of clouds and the mist of cold rain.  The pavement glistens under the artificial lights on the streets, and I yearn for the glow of the moon to be shining down instead. 

This standing, this yearning, this observation:  it is sacred.

Sometimes I go to the ocean to watch the moon rise or set.  My eyes follow her as she lifts or lowers, making her cycle around to look down upon all of us.

This watching, this cycle:  it is sacred.

Sometimes I wear the ocean.  Salty streams down my cheeks, smeared on the back of my hands.  Within the water, grows seeds that I have planted over time.  An iris.  A hazel tree.  I dive deep.

These tears, this letting go:  it is sacred.

When I hear, I am moved.  Vibrations travel and bounce:  a bass, a tempo, a beat, a pulse.  He sings like he has memorized the lyrics of my spirit, my past and present. 

This music, this dance:  it is sacred.

I sit in front of my altar, wrapped in the softest white and heather pink blanket.  My spirit is wrapped in white gold and yellow sapphire.  I close my eyes and I can see far and wide.  I breathe and remember the joy of being alive.

This meditation, this practice:  it is sacred.

I intend to see my body like an altar.  To kneel before it, to light incense around it, to offer it flowers and sweets.  I dedicate my practice to my body.  My breath is my mantra.  My pulse is my prayer.  I commit to living.

This intention, this body:  it is sacred.

There's magic in the knowing.  When we met, I knew I had to give him my heart.  I handed it over when he took my hand and we danced for hours on end.  Our energies shifted and flowed.  We warmed up the winter night.  There was a fall.  Rosy cheeks and wide pupils, my cells swelled with love. 

This love, this partnership:  it is sacred.

I pull a card and I know:  I am surrounded by wind and air.  These are the things that make up my Gemini constitution:  I inhale and exhale with sound.  I notice that my arm hair is really owl feathers and I can fly through the woods with my all-seeing eyes.  I am on a journey for wisdom.  She who sees what cannot be seen.  She who feels what cannot be witnessed.

The tarot, the elements, my totems:  they are sacred.

Then, you begin to realize:  every thing is sacred.  This life, this breath, the now, the past, the future.  It is all about how you approach things. 

Tell me: How would life shift if every action was a sacred ritual?



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