So you want to know what a sacred world looks like?

Good question.

For starters, look away from the

televised drama of things gone wrong,

what doesn’t work,

what we don’t want.

Close your eyes.

Breathe.

Then perhaps you can see

that in a sacred world everyone eats, and no one is left

to look into the eyes of hungry children each night,

a nesting place for wasting demons.

In a sacred world no one sleeps under a bridge,

or in a box, or not at all for lack of

a safe place.

In this world we dream of,

wellness is as free as sun and air,

and proper care is not a luxury or privilege.

Here, a lack of legal tender is never

a death sentence.

In a sacred world, the work of our hands is a labor of love,

each of us pouring our offerings into people and places

near enough to touch, never to be wastefully spent

by the distant rich hungry for more.

In this world, war and its many weapons

are only found in old stories we tell our grandchildren

in broad daylight—so as not to frighten them

too much—just enough.

In any sacred city, artists hold court

where centers of detention once stood,

music and dance and poems to mend what’s broken

and soothe the sleep of those once chained.

Here, the words “death” and “penalty”

are never heard together.

This is a world without television,

where discovery is not a channel,

but a way of life that opens minds,

lifts backsides off of couch cushions and

puts feet and hands and eyes on the earth,

and arms around each other.

In a sacred world, every circle of counsel

leaves open a seat for the four elements:

Earth, Air, Fire and Water,

and a fifth, which is Spirit.

These are the faces of God,

male and female,

within and without,

above and below all
we are meant to be.

A sacred world looks like this, simply this:

Human hands moved by love.