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I don't remember when I first heard this quote, "Where you stand is holy ground." I think of it all the time, and it, well... grounds me.
Throughout this summer, time has been a tricky thing. My husband's cancer is "holding its own," and we are afraid to be optimistic, and afraid not to be. We've been staying home a lot, and it gives me time to contemplate eternal things... and sometimes I avoid those thoughts, hoping for the ignorance of a life taken for granted, like I had before.
But it's impossible to turn away from the larger questions when a loved one is facing illness, and possibly death. Every day is an inner journey of sorts, and this quote has haunted me through these insubstantial hours.
I was thinking today about my niece, Emily. I remember when she was three, and her mom began to take her to church. There was nothing funnier than to hear this ringletted three-year-old say, "Nanny, let's talk about GAWD." We'd laugh so hard as she baby-talked the rolling drawl of their charismatic Baptist preacher. GAWD was her favorite subject, this magical genie in the sky; all-powerful, divine, completely good. GAWD could do anything, and Emily loved to chatter about him.
Her brother, Alex, was into angels. Guardian angels. He explained to me from the back seat of my car, "They're everywhere, Nanny! There's one on that stop sign. One over there..." He was pointing and explaining in his five-year-old way as we drove down the streets of my town. Guardian angels could be anywhere!
"There are even two in the back seat with me," he finished.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yep," he confirmed. "And one up front with you, too."
"Why do you have two in the back, and I only have one?" I asked.
"Because you only have one seat belt up there."
Case closed. Angels follow the rules.
These, and other holy matters, are my mental soundtrack now. They weave their haunting melodies within the playlist of my day. No longer is the position of the canister on the counter a random fact of life. It all means something now. My brain is operating on a different plane, and indeed, where I stand is holy ground.
I used to believe that each day was a box on the calendar, no more and no less. There was plenty of time, plenty of opportunity for all the exciting things life had to offer. I believed, as all young people do, that I was eternal. I would probably never get old, and certainly never die. Only old people were mortal, and even they seemed sure to last a very, very long time.
Any day now, I could wake up widowed, my husband in the bed beside me - but gone. Any day now, my husband could be cured, like it was all a bad dream. Any day now, the spontaneous flow of the universe could throw me a whole new winding road to follow, and I suppose I'm spending this time preparing for the journey.
If you're a bit confused by my blog, then you might begin to understand what it's like to teeter on the edge of the structure of life. All the plans, all the assumptions - gone. This is the inside of my mind now. This is the ground on which I stand.
Examine the soil beneath my feet. Let's describe it, commit it to memory.
The soil is moist with Louisiana rain. Days and days of rain falling, the sultry sun coming out to turn it to steam, the vivid grass turning greener, growing taller, thicker, more filled with the life of the wetlands of Louisiana. We are at sea level, maybe a foot or two above. The ground here is quick to flood, and soggy, coming up between my toes when I walk. I become engulfed in a way, whenever I allow my feet to get involved without protection. I can feel it
