Sacred Tabernacles [part 3 of 9]: Doorways of Memory
Doorways of Memory
It is our longing that often calls us back, either to a time when life moved more slowly or when nature was simply part of our day. For many living in the fast pace of modern life, it often requires an emergency, crisis, or viral pandemic to pull us from our numerous distractions and devices to remember those moments before we became busy.
Sometimes, memories of when we were present enough to connect to the landscape holding us come to mind when we least expect it and when we need them the most. Our memories, perhaps from childhood, are a portage carrying us through time and space to a time when we were aware of being safely in Mother Nature’s arms.
Ironically, there is presence being in the past of these kind of memories that enlivens our senses. These memories are not fantasy, taking us from ourselves and our discomfort so we don’t have to feel it. Instead, when we enter these sensual memories, we experience them in our body. Images of this kind are a resource for healing and transformation.
Memory serves as a gateway to what once was, and a connection we long to have again. Graduate students in the Consciousness and Transformation program at John F. Kennedy University spent eight weeks reflecting on their experiences in nature prior to and during the Earth, Body, Spirit course. Even entering into the memory of another, one we have not experienced first hand, but experience as an image, is a portage into the natural world. We can experience through another’s eyes a story of their past that has relevance to our present moment.
Divine nature. In a discussion of sacred places and the emotions those places evoked and with strong sentient memories of the sacred, students mentioned east coast beaches, northern California redwood forests, mountains, and streams.
Maria speaks to how nature evokes "a sense of aliveness, …[I] feel connected to the web of life, and …energy feels purely divine.” The healing redwood forest, for Alexandra, is “timelessness, serenity and endurance … peace, calmness and awe … as if I am being nurtured and healed.” Irena experienced a “deep sense of awe and mystery that in turn evoked in [her] a silence that penetrated [her] entire being, often bringing with it tears and prayer … humbled, … in the presence of the Divine.” The intensity of emotions and feelings resurface in memory and reflections of experiences in nature when we felt great presence with our surroundings.
Imagination and myth. Nature memories provoke our imagination, mythology, and original connection to Spirit. Nature’s mythology moves us beyond ordinary reality, deeper into a place that contains infinite possibilities.
Michael Meade speaks of Mother Nature’s sacred power to heal in his podcast Living Myth. Referring to the spells that bind us in our suffering, Meade alludes to Her (Earth’s) healing potential when he says “nature becomes the source of imagination and inspiration, but also the source of all medicine. The natural pharmacopeia that secretly holds an antidote for each poison found in the world” (Meade, episode 129, 2019).
Perhaps when we need it most, nature shows up to offer our thinking minds the freedom to move beyond linear time and space. Emily remembers when she was with her mother “staring out the window at Mt. Jefferson… the images we saw in the snow and red volcanic rock, [were] free association of inkblots.” Maria finds her way into the living myth when she recalls imagining herself “a princess of an indigenous tribe or a medicine woman foraging for medicines and sustenance. … to witness the pure beauty of the earth, … honor it sacredness, its godliness, and its remarkable awesomeness.” Natirza recalls the inherently spiritual aspect of nature when her father explained he “didn’t need to go to a building to find God. Nature was God’s cathedral.” Through the lens of imagination and myth, we begin to see with new eyes the natural world differently.
Threshold into the Sacred. Crossing thresholds into precious space, made by Nature’s hand marks a place inspired by the landscape. Buildings humans create for worship, memorial, or living are expressions of our own divine nature left as legacy in the world. The beaver’s lodge, bird’s nest, and human’s home afford each a sense of place within the landscape.
Interestingly, man-made structures, like temples, cathedrals, old houses, and Stonehenge were also places students found sacred connection. Students remarked on their experiences of being in sacred structures made from stone, wood, and other natural materials. Alicia was “invited to participate in a religious ceremony at a traditional sweat lodge located on the local tribe's sacred ground…. The experience … was mystical and spiritual.” In the ceremonial construction and burning, Rose speaks of the tear-evoking experience at The Temple at Burning Man in 2012: the structure “burned to the ground as thousands watch[ed]. … The combination of the emotional intentions of thousands of people was overwhelming … [a] symbol of impermanence.” The ceremonial burning sacralizes the place as much as the construction, and reflects natural cycles of creation and destruction.
Secret Tabernacles
Sacred places hold a deeply rooted energy that transcends time. Old houses, places of worship, ceremony, or memorial, (abandoned or in use) are sacred.
Stone houses that shelter generations, where babies are birthed, elders die, meals are celebrated, and sorrows shared are proof of our existence and consecrate a place. Homes are human sanctuaries and refuge from a harsh world. Evidence of life lived with the land, with presence—an old water pump, remnants of a garden with a rusty gate, a grave marker—feel holy. Even when the evidence no longer remains, there seems to be a vibration remaining.
In Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, John O’Donohue tells of the Irish ruins near a church in need of a parking lot for its congregation. The priest of the church asked the man whose family once lived upon the abandoned ruins for permission to use the stones from the ruins as the foundation for the new parking lot. The man refused to give the stones to the church. When the priest questioned the refusal, the man replied in Gaelic
“‘What would the souls of my ancestors do then?’ …even in this ruin long since vacated, the souls of those who had once lived there still had a particular affinity and attachment to this place. The life and passion of a person leave an imprint on the ether of a place. Love does not remain within the heart, it flows out to build secret tabernacles in a landscape” (O’donohue, 1997, p. 19).
This numinous connection to sacred space calls to us physically, calls to our bodies. The yearning to return to sacred space is compelling. Emily recalls her relationship with Mt. Jefferson, how the pull of this landform was strong, and “the awe never went away. Sometimes it hit [her] like the weight of an elephant, …gasping for air in his presence. [She] longed to be closer to him.” Landscapes have a magnetism that holds us, pulls us in, giving us a sense of belonging. On a more subtle scale, contact with the earth awakens our senses. Nicole describes physical inspiration and sensation of physical contact with “earth; when [she] can immerse [her] hands in the dirt, ...feel the roughness of the bark and the rush of moving water”.
Through the portage of memory, we make contact with nature that becomes a mirror of our experience and physical form.
