Our Highest Potential Selves

With Easter Sunday and Passover approaching it is, for many, a time of reflection of what religion means to them.  We hold our beliefs in a manner shaped by personal experience. Whatever your faith, may it be a positive realm in your life.

I was raised in a loving, traditional Catholic family yet my experiences have led me to a choice of religion similar to Emily Dickinson.  Running trails, swimming in the sea, gardening, and noticing the simple acts of nature are when I feel the humblest, and the grandest. The potential of our highest selves is what I call "God". We all hold this potential.  It is our truth. It is our beauty.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church/I keep it, staying at home ( FR. 236) is one of Emily Dickinson's poems declaring her religion of choice. Simple as it may read, Emily's attitude towards spiritual matters was thoughtful and complex, and a recurrent, progressive theme in her poetry. She chose not to attend church, not out of defiance, but to have the freedom to think for herself. Satisfied with the family minister's assurance that Emily's spiritual health was "sound", her father built a small sun porch for her as a place of worship. There, in addition to the cupola she loved to inhabit, she witnessed nature's unabashed character and found sanctity.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --
I keep it, staying at Home --
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome --

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --
I just wear my Wings --
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton -- sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman --
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last --
I'm going, all along.

The poem Sunday Morning is a reflection of my thoughts on religion and nature:

Sunday Morning

Before dissonance must sit

starched in a pew,

wearing a Sunday dress too big

and shined shoes too small,

I will let her limbs unfold, and run--

slow by the old barn, fast

past the hounds behind

the chicken-wired fence,

across the bridge,

and through the pines

which sway over water’s edge,

then toward higher ground

where Jonah’s Rock waits--

Jonah prays in the belly of a fish

a trilogy of nights,

Jesus lies in a cave three days, and I,

I run three miles.

Quick-stepping along Stone Row,

I nod to question marks

that punctuate each bend.

Naked arms and legs catch

crab apple petal snow.

I reach the steep hill

that will not end. I claw its earth.

Hands smudged with dirt understand.

My feet slip, but still follow

this path to the stained-glass field

of red-wings, lupine, and Queen Ann’s Lace.

At last, my breath can lift her head.

The hum of stillness in me quakes.

Wings swoop the sky.

Wishing all carrot friends a Happy Easter, Passover, or simply a Happy Nature Day!