Sanctuaries, All Three

Some places do not speak, yet they know how to gather our weariness and return it to us as peace. Whether rooted in earth, shelved with intention, or timbered by memory, these sanctuaries restore something in us that modern noise never can.

A single tree with a canopy that exceeds its height several times over stands in the middle of fields of farmland. The lone place of respite for acres and acres when exhaustion and heat overwhelm.

A library with more pages than can be read in two lifetimes, let alone one, embeds itself within a community. An escape for those fleeing reality or monotony.

A religious building with windows that cast glittering kaleidoscope patterns on the floorboards repurposes itself over the years. An ever-present echo exists from generations who filed through doors seeking absolution or hope.

Sanctuaries, all three.

And all heal my soul in ways that I cannot truly measure.

None require the presence of another.

All, in their silence, convey meanings in a frequency that cannot be heard, only felt.  They do not feel the need to fill a void with chatter or level expectations that make you second guess your presence.

The door is open and all are welcome. A message today’s world seems more apt to forget or at least distract you from.

More peace has come from a period of solitude under the shade of a lone tree than I care to extrapolate here. More knowledge has come from within the pages of books whose titles may leave my memory now, but who shaped every fiber of my being regardless. More understanding has soaked into my marrow from historical buildings whose long-gone members left a tangible imprint as a reminder that the hopes and dreams, worries and fears of the human experience are not new, just recycled.

All that has come to pass is that which is yet to come.

Just as the roots and earth soak up tears and rain, libraries hold the voices and history of every time before us, and prayers carve themselves into the DNA of timbered ceilings.

Solace does not exist within fiber-optic cables and algorithms. It exists within the whispers of wisdom that surround us. Be still, be silent, and you will feel it.

And nothing else will ever be the same.