The Holy Land

The Holy Land

Water covers my boot as I step from the canoe. Of all the stones that lay on the beach two stared upward into my eyes. Freeing one with the blade of my paddle I harvest it from the sand. My fingers trace its shape, sensing the influence of a thousand centuries. In my hand is condensed time, deep and patient beyond comprehension. Picking up the other, I hold them together in my palm and press the pair to my chest, two tablets of stone imprinted by the finger of God in these Holy Lands. I close my eyes, centering down for what they may have to tell me, listening with my heart for words not heard with the ear or spoken with the tongue. Here, on the shore of the Chippewa, an inner stillness ascends as the earth speaks . . . “Creator’s hand sustains the life of every creature, the breath of all humankind, sculpts every hill. Ask the animals and they will teach you, let the fish in the waters inform you, the birds of the air sing their knowledge to your spirit. Let your heart hear the Scriptures of Creation. Her communion is love.” . . . A tear of gratitude forms and slips from my eye onto the sand. Yes, the earth speaks. For me, no cathedral, no temple, so imparts serenity and awe as does a simple stone, a single leaf. Granite, quartz, pine and oak, beetle and gazelle, the waves of the sea and breeze on my cheek, all, the myriad voices of God. . . . Returning the stones to rest with their kin, I have again heard His whisper. The earth speaks, for these are the Holy Lands. www.theteacherwithin.com  

ONE WORLD - ONE FAMILY OF MAN - ONE CREATOR OF ALL