There is a place for sacred things.
Tangibly, they are on our dressers, chests and shelves.
Sometimes, they’re surrounded by the ash of incense or a picture or nothing at all.
But they are sacred and they are held in your heart.

Every so often, I glance down at my wrists to find the two post-India tattoos inspired by a somewhat, transformation of simplicity, poverty and injustice.
There is a sun and a moon. Tattooed by some guy from Mississippi whose own tattoos were less than…”Evangelical”
I didn’t care. They were simple designs - somewhat childlike and squiggly and lovely. He didn’t ask what they meant and I was sort of thankful because sometimes it’s hard. 

I’ll say, “Yeah, I really like this band mewithoutYou…” But that’s just a little of my journey into this world of seeing God in everything. 
St. Francis and his canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon sent me spiraling into a hippy-esque world of trees, birds and nature. Of things all-connected and beautiful. 
We have a few books on St. Francis on our wobbly book shelves - some are children’s books and some speak of his life as we know it. 

I have a little wooden replica of St. Francis [from Hannah] on my little shelf where I tend to put my little keepsakes. [they maybe aren’t so sacred, but silly and awfully comforting…like an empty bottle of Rogue HBR and Abita Amber…] He stands there with two birds on either side of his tonsured cut head and has a peaceful gaze carved into the deep, dark wood.

I find peace in these sacred things. Not that Jesus touched them, but that my soul connects with this Spirit in a deeply moving way. As I come to live life in such a fast paced mindset, I have to slow down my urge to move faster and with better efficiency. Sometimes the world of profit overflows into my life of spirituality.

Most cultures have what they consider to be sacred. Of course, when culture is not understood by foreigners, it gets ruined in translation. 

In India, as I was waiting for a bus, I sat and leaned against a tree. I hadn’t noticed that this banyan tree was marked as sacred [as most banyan trees are in West Bengal] and noticed a few Bengali men waving me off with their hands. I immediately pushed off the tree with a misunderstood nod and me, wondering what I did wrong. I felt terrible for offending their sacred place.
There the respect - whether or not I believe a tree is sacred, it was sacred to this community and how dare I not show respect.
I think this gets a lot of Americans in trouble…this lack of understanding of the sacred in older cultures. [I’m only knocking on Americans because I am one…and I have been offensive.]

There was that term the brothers at Kalighat would say with folded hands, “Namaste” - honoring the Spirit that lives inside of you. No doubt many volunteers were atheist, buddhist, hindu, muslim, protestant, catholic, etc - All were greeted with Namaste and all left changed. All perspectives had shifted.

So I talk of this place, for sacred things. Inside our hearts…drawn on our bodies or standing beside a candle of Our Lady of Guadeloupe - they bring us to that place where we learned our lives wouldn’t be the same. 

In the place of sacred things, I see You,

with mud on your fingertips,

dirty feet and a hungry belly…

and a hole in your side.