The sacred—that which shakes us down.

It shakes us down to the bone and then shakes us again. Let us be moved to an out-of-body experience. Let us be moved to weeping by a story of someone’s life we’ve never met.

The baby, god, the baby. How would I ever survive that?

Let us be moved miles past our comfort zone by allowing ourselves to feel through something terrifying.

Babies are born, death washes over, love lost and refound…through all of this we keep the bond of those who knew us before we knew ourselves. The ones that love us, even though…they are the sacred ones. They are the ones who shake us down then hold us close.

Sacred is the carnal knowing that we need to be seen, loved, heard and celebrated.

Sacred is the truth that all our experiences are here to shape us, and we decide whether they destroy us or make us stronger.

Sacred is as sacred does.

Sacred is the song that hurls me back to that time, of simple days and the kind of passionate love that never lasts. Sacred is first love. I hold close in my heart the space for the person who taught me how to love. I hold even closer the space for the person who taught me how to live…the person who loves me now.

Sacred is scared. Scared when the path seems not quite right, not quite sure they’re all on board. They’ll get there. They will. Give it time. Sweat out the fear, moving to sun salutations for an hour, cranking up the tunes and let the passion of artistic word move through you like it’s your own breath. They’ll get there. They will.

Honor your truth, scary as it may be—there’s no other way to be.

Sacred is the scar for the scar has connected me to the depths of darkness. But only from knowing hell, can I then know how it feels to be away from it, free from it, liberated. Only from having been there, can I know I have the power to get out.

Sacred are the kids who walk this earth with a soul of their own but a piece of our heart…a piece of ourselves living outside these bodies. The eyes that never seem to be from this world that burn deeper than should be allowed. Stories seen and recited, and a conscience far more ethereal than we give them credit for. They are the sacred teachers…the ones who came here to teach us love, loss, attachment and then letting go. They teach us how to find space and the fact that we really do have all the time in the world…if we allow for it.

Scared is the sound that brings me back home. It’s the scent of safety and the color of genuine joy and unconditional love, as I return home from being gone for oh- so-long.

One day, I’ll come home and she won’t be there. But no matter where I go, the same bird calling its sound out in a city halfway across the world, the smell of coffee, the red lips and blue shirt, and then suddenly there I am.

There you are. With her. Even if only in your heart and in some other realm, there you are. She’s everywhere.

Know what is sacred; hold it so close it seeps through skin, deep into bone.

Like elephant journal on Facebook

Ed: Bryonie Wise