Holy Ground

Where I sit is holy
Holy is the ground
Forest, mountain, river,
Listen to the sound
Great spirit circles all around me

Who I am is holy
Holy all are we
Body, thought and motion
Connecting you and me
Great spirit circles all around me

What I do is holy
Holy is my way
Work and play together
Celebrate the day
Great spirit circles all around me

One of my favorite songs is Shaina Noll singing this.  I'm not sure where it came from, whether it's new or an ancient Native American chant.  The music team used it at the women's retreat last year when the theme was nature and I enjoyed hearing those gals sing it as much as Shaina's version.  The music has an earthy feel.

Around ten years ago I spent an entire day getting peaceful and ended up writing this piece.  I seem to remember my attitude was something like, "I'm going to get peaceful if it kills me, dammit." I found myself with a day alone and good weather to be outside and nothing on the calendar.  Beaven left right after breakfast to go to Dallas and wouldn’t be back until the next afternoon. I had over 24 hours all to myself.

I was going to get peaceful if it killed me.

I realize what a gift, an absolute luxury, I have out here. I seldom have to do anything I don’t want to anymore. I wake when I want and go to bed when I want. We eat when we’re hungry and we never have to worry where we will get our next meal. Beaven and I are both incredibly happy, healthy, and comfortable with who we are. But I wondered about this being holy thing.

First, I bought the song from iTunes for 99 cents. Good start. Then I paired it with about three other Holy Spirit type songs and listened to it in a loop for most of my morning while I cleaned house and did laundry.

I still didn’t feel quite as holy as I thought I should feel. When the mail came and brought me the latest copy of the Rural Farm news I noticed they spent half of the front page describing how toxic the soil has gotten from this drought. They used lots of words I didn’t realize farmers knew like “Nitrate uptake” and “prussic acid.” This didn’t sound like Holy Ground.

So I decided to take a walk around the place to soak up a little holiness.

I started with a walk around the pond.

I found cow tracks, which are unusual on our land. Then I saw the cow’s calling cards all around our pond. We are fenced except for one tiny break by the neighbor’s pasture, the neighbor who is notorious for letting his cows get out. This cow had found a way out of her pasture and into mine while my guard dogs snored at the foot of my bed.

About halfway around the pond I met Harold-- pretty much where he is every afternoon at this time, laying half in and half out of the water. The minute I spotted our first snake after buying this place I named him Harold because it just seemed like it would help if we treated any snake we see as though it was always the same snake, kind of like a pet, as opposed to a whole herd of snakes that only come out one at a time while the rest wait in the bushes.  (Remember: This was over 10 years ago. This was back before we had chickens and before a rat snack had killed about nine baby chicks and eaten a bunch of eggs.  Before I developed a knack for shooting snakes at the drop of a hat.  In some ways I was a lot more peaceful back then) Harold is either a water moccasin, which is poisonous, or just a plain water snake, which is not. Beaven and I spent the last three or four days doing a little research on our new friend without coming to a definite conclusion. We lean toward saying he’s just a plain old water snake.

I stood for a long time and watched him. If I got too close he would slide back in the water and swim a little farther down the shoreline. I started out trying yet again to decide what kind of snake he is but eventually I forgot to worry about that and began to notice how graceful he is, as he straightened his coil and curled himself through the water in an elaborate "S" and then straighten completely to match the shape of the water's edge. Eventually I became too bold and he disappeared into the water completely and I lost him. As I stood watching for him I began to notice the water bugs skating on top the water. A few tiny young frogs would hop into the water as I approached where they were sitting. I could never spot them until they had already gone ‘plop’.

I decided to build a fire to burn some of the wood we cleared over the winter. This was the perfect time since Beaven was gone and I have a reputation with the local fire department he, well; let’s just say he doesn’t like it when I build fires. After the fire died down I got a lawn chair and sat to watch the coals. I was in a little pocket clearing where the woods were thick around me on three sides with the pond and the sun setting behind my back.

If you’ve sat by enough campfires you eventually learn to tell the wood you are burning by the smell of the smoke. This fire was oak and elm. No pine or cedar. Cedar pops and generally tries to take over. Oak fires are very calm.

Night fell slowly. The birds were the first to call out the night.  I could hear them settle in the trees and call out to each other.  The cicadas began their night songs.The fire had taken on a very innocent assortment of flames that might have been what the scriptures had in mind on Pentecost. Certainly if tongues of fire were going to hover over my head I would want quiet tame ones. 

The bullfrogs started croaking in the water and the tree frogs answered them from the woods. The coyotes sent out a series of howls to announce they were hunting tonight. The wild dogs answered them.  The domesticated dogs barked back from their front porches to announce that they were on guard duty. Day turned to dusk and dusk became night. The Chuck Wills Widow, my favorite bird , called out to announce that all was well and the night became a symphony of sounds. I put more logs on the coals. I realized that except for a few conversations with the dogs, I hadn’t used my voice since I visited the produce stand around lunchtime and I was enjoying the quiet.

I walked out to the clearing across the field and impressed myself at being able to navigate easily in the dark. I know this ground well. I went to check on the sliver of moon I had seen through the trees. There I spotted three stars and remembered something I read that said the Sabbath arrived when three stars became visible at night. Even though it was Tuesday I felt like it was a Sabbath. I returned to the fire and noticed how good the warmth felt on my legs.

I realized that where I was sitting was holy.