ON SOULS, SYMBOLS AND SACRED PLACES
When Mitch was young he carried with him two toy figures. One was a man with a hardhat, ready to go to work and the other was a little boy with a ball cap and backpack. He never went anywhere that he didn’t carry these two figures in his chubby little hands or tiny pockets. Often, Mitch picked up the father, a symbol of me, and kissed it softly. I adored his tender, affectionate heart. I would then pick up the little boy, a symbol of my son, and kiss it in kind. Mitch would always giggle and give me a big hug.
“I love you so much, little Mitch.” I would say.
“ You see, there is a sacred place I want to be, beyond the hills and in a place I cannot yet see.
My little boy is there, waiting patiently ... waiting to see if I might offer symbols of my soul, evidence of who I love and what I believe ... not just in word, but deed.”
I discovered early on, what children lack in words they often make up for in other ways. Mitch didn’t always know how to share his feelings, so he found other means to tell me. I always tried to listen to his other means. For every symbol he created there opened a window into his soul. My other children did the same thing to some degree, but not like Mitch. He was not very talkative in his early years – and he found other ways to share what was in his heart and soul.
There is an old Chinese proverb that says, “There are no secrets of the soul that conduct does not reveal.” Each day, little Mitch shared symbols that revealed his soul. Each time, this little child took me to a sacred place.
In this photo, Mitch asked me to take a photo of him with his “guys”. I loved how he posed for the photo, resting his head against his marker-stained, chubby arm. I wish I could reach into this photo and kiss his face again. How my heart reaches through time and space, yearning to love …
I have a friend and business partner, Corey Berg, who once shared a quote, “In all things teach people about [God]. And if necessary, use words.” He was speaking of the ultimate symbol – how we choose to live. In my soul, I hope that my daily actions are a symbol, like little Mitch so often gave me … symbols that say more than words.
Though I have journeyed broken roads and wandered through the vast shadows of death, I have also climbed the highest mountains of life. Sometimes places so high, the air so thin, I could see the heavens and almost touch them. The peaks and valleys of life are sacred places, each in their own right. They teach us things we must learn, that add to our spiritual sight.
I am grateful for souls, symbols and sacred places. I have been to heaven and hell, and seen many faces. This little soul, who like a feather, softly landed in my heart, is now a symbol of my own journey’s new start. You see, there is a sacred place I want to be, beyond the hills and in a place I cannot yet see.
My little boy is there, waiting patiently ... waiting to see if I might offer symbols of my soul, evidence of who I love and what I believe ... not just in word, but deed.