M-22 is a scenic stretch of blacktop that runs up Michigan’s west coast from Manistee all the way up around Northport and down to its other end in Traverse City. Without a litany of awe inspired endearment, that ‘hundred mile shoreline is what every sandy little berm on every coast wants to be. There is a spot near Glen Arbor where the woods give way to hayfields, to century-old barns and long abandoned orchards. Beyond them a high meadow and steep glacial moraines left there from the last ice age are overgrown with beech and maple forest. The first time I saw it I knew; This is the place. To my surprise it was part of Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lake Shore. As a taxpayer I am an owner and I can be there, hike there, climb in the woods and sit in the tall grass whenever I please.
Four hundred years ago Shakespeare penned the lines “all the world’s a stage. . .” and we (all of us) are actors playing out our roles. What a wonderful metaphor. But there is no script, we have to improvise and ad lib as we go; and it’s all one act, no intermission, no prompters, no do-overs. Each of us has to find our way and deliver our lines over and under, in between and around every other actor on that stage. That part is often taken for granted as if we (the protagonists) are upstage with everybody waiting anxiously for us to speak. When I first drove by the hayfields and the high meadow I knew it would be my center stage and my story should unfold from there.
Whatever I might have been before, I am by now an old heretic. It doesn’t take much imagination to imagine primitive people and their helpless fear with every thunder clap and lightning bolt. Creating a mythical god was their only-best course of action. It must have eased their anxiety in the moment and it still underlies western religion but I don’t believe any of it. I didn’t chose to be that way but too much to believe is just that. I fit in very neatly with Secular Humanists. In lieu of a long, wordy manifesto our commandments tell us to Cooperate, Be nice and Play fair. All we need to maximize and fulfill our righteous potential is programmed in our brain at birth. An all knowing, all powerful god isn't necessary. Some seeds never germinate, some sprout, some go back into the food web, some feed on the same food web and make more seed, lay more eggs, birth more babies, enough to replace themselves and sustain their species. I’m lucky to be here, a minuscule but relevant link in the web.
The human brain is a marvelous instrument but needs a skilled artist to make music. It works like a high centered, short wheelbase little jeep with big tires and a 600 horse power motor. It can take you places nobody dreamed we could go. But if you drive with imaginary insurance and reckless abandon it will, without a second thought, leave you upside down in the ditch.
I don’t really know why I fleshed out this idea today; maybe just the Muse and me, doing what we do. That would be me going along with whatever it tells me. I have to believe in something that resonates to a high moral principle, something Right (Righteous). It’s part of the human paradigm. In my case, I find that at the Church Of The High Meadow. I go there when I can and it looks like that will be this summer. Rain or shine, I will take comfort in the natural order of gravity and photosynthesis, sit in the shelter of pine trees and marvel at their seed cones in the grass beside me. I’ll walk, checking under gnarled, old apple trees for deer beds in the tall grass and a few green apples too high up for them to reach.
I have taken a page from Christian tradition in my own self interest. Communion for a pagan would be to ritualize the sacred interdependence of all things. It has nothing to do with (God so loved the world . . .) and everything to do with wildflowers, bees, honey, me and the flowers I plant around my patio. I do communion anytime I feel like it, alone at the kitchen table or with loved ones at the Church of The High Meadow. It takes a little brandy in a paper cup, raise it in thanksgiving to honor the Cardinal Points of the compass, our Mother Earth and Father Sky. Sip the brandy slow, wash it over your tongue, breathe in through your nose and swallow. When your head is clear, raise up a piece of chocolate, repeat the ritual and crush the chocolate against the roof of your mouth. Savor that blessing for as long as it takes and wash it down with the last bit of brandy. I finish with a benediction borrowed from the Lakota Sioux. Hard to pronounce but profound none the less; (Mitakuye Oyasin) which means, (We are all related) or if you prefer, (All My Relations). I take the Liberty of borrowing from another language and another culture after all; we are all related.
I have done enough here for today. Cooperate, be nice, play fair, take care of our Mother and take care of each other.
Four hundred years ago Shakespeare penned the lines “all the world’s a stage. . .” and we (all of us) are actors playing out our roles. What a wonderful metaphor. But there is no script, we have to improvise and ad lib as we go; and it’s all one act, no intermission, no prompters, no do-overs. Each of us has to find our way and deliver our lines over and under, in between and around every other actor on that stage. That part is often taken for granted as if we (the protagonists) are upstage with everybody waiting anxiously for us to speak. When I first drove by the hayfields and the high meadow I knew it would be my center stage and my story should unfold from there.
Whatever I might have been before, I am by now an old heretic. It doesn’t take much imagination to imagine primitive people and their helpless fear with every thunder clap and lightning bolt. Creating a mythical god was their only-best course of action. It must have eased their anxiety in the moment and it still underlies western religion but I don’t believe any of it. I didn’t chose to be that way but too much to believe is just that. I fit in very neatly with Secular Humanists. In lieu of a long, wordy manifesto our commandments tell us to Cooperate, Be nice and Play fair. All we need to maximize and fulfill our righteous potential is programmed in our brain at birth. An all knowing, all powerful god isn't necessary. Some seeds never germinate, some sprout, some go back into the food web, some feed on the same food web and make more seed, lay more eggs, birth more babies, enough to replace themselves and sustain their species. I’m lucky to be here, a minuscule but relevant link in the web.
The human brain is a marvelous instrument but needs a skilled artist to make music. It works like a high centered, short wheelbase little jeep with big tires and a 600 horse power motor. It can take you places nobody dreamed we could go. But if you drive with imaginary insurance and reckless abandon it will, without a second thought, leave you upside down in the ditch.
I don’t really know why I fleshed out this idea today; maybe just the Muse and me, doing what we do. That would be me going along with whatever it tells me. I have to believe in something that resonates to a high moral principle, something Right (Righteous). It’s part of the human paradigm. In my case, I find that at the Church Of The High Meadow. I go there when I can and it looks like that will be this summer. Rain or shine, I will take comfort in the natural order of gravity and photosynthesis, sit in the shelter of pine trees and marvel at their seed cones in the grass beside me. I’ll walk, checking under gnarled, old apple trees for deer beds in the tall grass and a few green apples too high up for them to reach.
I have taken a page from Christian tradition in my own self interest. Communion for a pagan would be to ritualize the sacred interdependence of all things. It has nothing to do with (God so loved the world . . .) and everything to do with wildflowers, bees, honey, me and the flowers I plant around my patio. I do communion anytime I feel like it, alone at the kitchen table or with loved ones at the Church of The High Meadow. It takes a little brandy in a paper cup, raise it in thanksgiving to honor the Cardinal Points of the compass, our Mother Earth and Father Sky. Sip the brandy slow, wash it over your tongue, breathe in through your nose and swallow. When your head is clear, raise up a piece of chocolate, repeat the ritual and crush the chocolate against the roof of your mouth. Savor that blessing for as long as it takes and wash it down with the last bit of brandy. I finish with a benediction borrowed from the Lakota Sioux. Hard to pronounce but profound none the less; (Mitakuye Oyasin) which means, (We are all related) or if you prefer, (All My Relations). I take the Liberty of borrowing from another language and another culture after all; we are all related.
I have done enough here for today. Cooperate, be nice, play fair, take care of our Mother and take care of each other.
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