Sacred

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Sacred
Sacred

Sometimes we could consider our lives to be sacred and see the things that appear to us as messengers from the divine. We could get more involved, but it’s enough to just pause and witness or gently touch. We could also trust God that what ever he is revealing to us, is what we are ready for.

Many times I think I get inspired for a painting, by reading something from a book, or hearing things in passing. This is a closing passage from a book I just finished, called Wild, by Cheryl Strayed

– It was all unknown to me then, as I sat on that white bench on the day I finished my hike. Everything except the fact that I didn’t have to know. That it was enough to trust that what I’d had done was true. to understand it’s meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was, like all those lines from The Dream of a Common Language that had run through my nights and days. To believe that I didn’t need to reach with my bare hands anymore. To know that seeing the fish beneath the surface of the water was enough. That it was everything. It was my life – like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me. How wild it was to let it be.

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