Remembering Sacred Space

It’s somber, it’s sacred and sometimes hidden away in secret.

Like an Ishiguro’s novel, “the Buried Giant”.

Like a shrine discovered in Tinker Creek.

We tend to forget and we will. No cure for that, yet.

But incense, chant, and statues will evoke deep-seated memories.

Of times Mom tried to nudge me to bow, to show respect for a parallel universe away from and outside of myself.

It’s today’s equivalent of trying to get your kids off the screen.

We self-project and refuse to entertain any other mode of thinking, of doing and talking.

We shed skin, but then it grows back out the same. Hair color dido. Perhaps we should try “taboo removal” on our hearts and mind.

My space of reverence is “Serenity”, family burial ground, hopefully, sees some flowers this weekend: final resting place for my sojourned predecessors.

They were once fallen prey to propaganda: “French films are best”, “Chinese philosophers are wise” and “Japanese wives submissive”.

They believed and followed it, then were laid rest in the soil.

Hence, those propaganda persist, perpetuate and of course propagate like a Ponzi scheme with each new generation (or new layer of recruits).

We do need guidance and guideposts, and plenty of those during this graduation season. Yet we are confused, forgetful and leaderless, in an era of fake news and facebook news. We self-project and hear only the echo of our own chamber. Of course that cousin will like our posts, and this friend will tolerate our eccentricities. But out there, amidst all the white noise, there must be a cry in the wilderness, a prophetic one, reminding and nudging us toward the sacred space, and un-clogging our hearts. The way people woke up and said “I am mad like Hell and I won’t take it anymore”.

We should show a re-run of “the Network” the movie instead of staying away from downtown St Louis or wherever the neo-KKK are staging a demonstration this weekend, trying to stir up and stage a comeback. A la reserche du temps perdu! Of the times that never were. An anti-thesis to sacredness! Robes, chants, incense, music and yes, donation boxes are all good and necessary since our spiritual selves need purification, not indulgence. We need to be away from ourselves to save ourselves and remember those “buried giants”.

We need to rediscover shrines and secret hidings of the gods, who, unless we humble ourselves as pilgrims, ain’t gonna reveal to us, and not in white hoods and burning crosses. When you belong to sacred space, you don’t need to exert too much of an influence. It will radiate naturally, and propagate without help from Ponzi or Nazi.

I want to seek and remember Sacred Space this Memorial Weekend. It’s good for my soul and my tainted heart.