Divinity

What does it mean, for something to be sacred? I could definitely start this out with some ramble drawing on the words of poets, scholars, teachers, books, verses, and statements of leaders of Church and culture on what the sacred is. Drawing on the wisdom of others is, of course, an excellent course of action, at least in most instances. But I feel that in this case, attempting to discuss the sacred from an outsider’s view makes the disinterested observer’s mistake-- it assumes that something that lives within us can be understood in a way other than embodiment.

I revolt at the notion that divinity can be circumscribed in words. That isn’t to say words aren’t useful when discussing the sacred, simply that the use of words is to divinity as the glass is to water-- it can capture and transport it, but we must never, EVER confuse the glass for the water. Drinking shards is likely to shred the esophagus and bring early death. Instead, I will shape this entry as a glass for you, and let you decide what you will drink therefrom. Be cautioned: it’s usually not the glass’s fault that it is empty.

What does it mean, then, for something to be sacred? Think of your own moments, reader (and do not pretend to a lack of experience in this case! They are our birthright as human beings) when it seemed something kinder, wiser, and nobler reached out and touched your mind. In my experience, this rarely occurs with any sort of predictable pattern. It may be in the eyes of a lover, the kind voice of a friend, the sound of a choir, the breeze through the garden. Or, it may be at a rock concert, whispering below the steady beat of the music at the club, peeking through clouds of depression while sitting at home in tattered sweats. Or still, it may occur while the bullets are whistling through the air, the mountains are falling, and it seems the storm and waves are conspiring to swallow us whole. The Divine strikes like lightning and whispers like the slightest breeze. It dawns slowly, yet flashes suddenly and permanently, like a lit fire. It speaks, mutters, shouts, caresses. It is, in a word, human.

The context and the timing may not be predictable-- but in my experience, encounters with what is sacred are always predictable in one singular way. That is, they leave the person with a little more power, a little more hope, a little kinder, a little wiser. Happier? Maybe. The kind and wise accept every emotion, not just joy, and recognize that joy is a means to an end, not an end itself. I can’t think of any terms for these characteristics that do not come with substantial baggage-- “virtue” is the only one that really fits, but even then its meaning has been warped by the heat of the world into implying something inaccessible to all but those who are already strong. If virtue is the outgrowth of divinity, then virtue, like divinity itself, is a gift that any willing person can invite, not just the hero.

That we can experience such things: hope, kindness, wisdom, love, points to our reality as divine beings ourselves. These are the fruits of the divine, and they live in us, manifesting in the way we move through the world. The human and divine are not so far apart, after all. Daedalus’ mistake was believing he had to reach the sun to reach the Divine.

So what does it mean, to be sacred? I don’t know, reader. I know what is divine to me. It is anything (and there’s a lot of it, more than meets the eye) that empowers me to be kinder, wiser, gentler, more loving, more open, more skillful, more human. The divine’s only requirement to discovery that I can discern is that it asks you to look.

So, then, look, reader. What is sacred? He who has eyes to see, let him see.

"To see a World in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour...
"God appears, and God is Light
To those poor souls who dwell in Night,
But does a Human Form display
To those who dwell in realms of Day."
- William Blake