I decided to go for a stroll around my neighborhood on my day off. There was still unexplored land to tread on. I let my curiosity guide me and ended up at the doors of an Episcopalian church. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peeked in through the glass doors.
Churchy looking on the inside.
I wondered if it was one of those churches where all were welcome, or if it was more exclusive. I searched my brain for episcopal references.
Sex and the City, I think Charlotte was Episcopalian.
I walked around to the side and found a view of a beautiful garden. There was a stone labyrinth, a fountain, benches.
A few Blue Jays were flitting about. I asked if they were Episcopalian, they didn’t respond.
I stared at one and it stared back at me. I asked the Blue Jay if it knew God, it didn’t respond.
I soaked up the pretty view with my eyes. How that garden felt so protected from the outside world. Open 24/7 to critters and creatures, but mostly closed to those of human kind.
I wondered if God was there, in this space built for devotion.
God, spirit, the unknown. What the heck was it? And why did we seek with such thirst and fervor?
I asked into the air, what are you? [Asking the church.]
It replied, “A place to Remember.”
To remember what? That we’re more spirit than human? Something beautiful and esoteric?
The reply felt more simple….
To remember that this is a story.
Millions of interwoven and interconnected stories, whew. That’s a lot of story telling.
I looked again at the garden. I took a deep breath. “A Place to Remember”
I found my way to the center of the story.
To the voice behind the words and the breath behind the voice.
There, it was peaceful.