Monday, 19 June 2017

Venerating the Sacred Space.

I’m told that when describing me recently, somebody said ‘he loves his garden.’ He was right, of course, but there’s rather more to it than that.

The fact is I like my garden because it’s a very pleasant place to sit with a beer or cup of tea on a balmy summer evening, but that isn’t why I love it. I love it because I venerate the life force which drives the growth, and the energy inherent in that growth fills me with awe on a much deeper level than most people realise. Given the profound nature of the experience, therefore, the whole of my garden is a sacred space to me. It matters a lot.

That being the case, I’m very sensitive to any circumstance in which people demonstrate a lack of respect for the space or my feelings for it. When that happens, the storm clouds gather, the red mist rises, and people think I’m being fussy and overly territorial.

Well, let’s put it this way: It’s not so very different from some insensitive bozo passing for a real estate developer in America wanting to run a bulldozer through an Indian burial ground and failing to understand why the natives are not exactly happy about it.

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