Divine Opus by Sara

Divine Opus by Sara - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

Everyone has a favorite place. A “zen place” they go to, to rediscover themselves and their Gods, whoever They may be. For some it is a church, mosque, or other place of worship. For others it is a more private or personal place, like their bedroom, or their mom’s house. Personally, I go to the birthplace and abode of my Gods; I go outside. I go to the shore of a certain lake and wade out to a certain stone and I sit. While I’m sitting there I am always thunderstruck by the flawlessness the surrounds me and the feeling of utter rightness that fills my soul. There is a divine majesty in this place; it is a masterwork collage of physical sensation, color, and sound that is ever changing and just waiting to be appreciated.
Throughout the day the stones have been warmed by the sun and are now, at sunset, sharing that heat with anyone willing to receive it. Using the memory of the fiery splendor of daylight in an attempt to guard them from the chill of the coming night. The breeze seeks to tangle its fingers in hair; trying to play with it like a small child. The quickly cooling, sun-warmed water laps around bare ankles and the small corpuscular fish swim by. Sometimes they even nibble at unprotected toes. Falling leaves slide caressingly down the arms and back of sun bathers and endeavor to twist themselves into their hair. Eventually the reaching shadows do swallow everything; shrouding the forest from the hot fervency of the waning day and enveloping it in the cool serenity of the coming night.
As those shadows reach and grasp and the last golden rays of the sun sink behind the trees, just before the first stars appear on the eastern horizon, a riot of water colors are splashed against the sky. Apollo’s amber, crimson, tangerine, and coral seamlessly blend into Artemis’s celadon, lavender, cerulean, and ink. The bright canvas of the sky serves as the backdrop for the magnificent shift from day to night. Shadows creep along the ground, giving everything they touch of mystery. The vibrant colors of day gradually fade into the more somber nocturnal hues. The vivid emeralds become deep forests. The lush sables convert to rich coffees. Everything farewells the dazzling and incandescent God of the Sun and salutes the ethereal and lustrous Goddess of the Moon.
All the while, in the background, the water laps at tree roots, poles, and rocks; and washes: swish, swish, swish; against the sand making a constant, yet, at the same time, varying rhythm. Mockingbirds, grasshoppers, and squirrels struggle against owls, crickets, and frogs for lyrical supremacy as the day slowly fades to night. One side is not willing for their section in this divine rhapsody to end, but knows it must. The other is impatient for its part to begin. Human voices, some quiet, some loud, some laughing, some squabbling add more layers to this ever changing harmony. A gentle breeze whispers its counter harmonies to the trees; making the branches dance and the leaves laugh with delight. The hymn swells as Apollo’s fiery chariot burns on the western horizon. Then quiets again as it sinks below and Artemis’s cool glow soothes the heat away.
Nearly everything about this place perpetually changes. The colors blend and shift, refusing to stay the same from one minute to the next. The wind makes the position of the grasses and leaves fluid and mutable. Animals are forever slithering, hurrying, buzzing, and gliding into and out of sight and hearing range. Sounds made by the play of flora, fauna, and the gentle wind are in constant, but unpredictable arrangements with pauses and cadence changes at innumerable and seemingly random intervals. The variable temperature and wind strength even make it feel slightly different. The only things that always remain the same are the perfection of the place and the underlying natural patterns that the Gods Themselves deem untouchable in their brilliance. The precise and wonderful interplays between earth, air, water, and fire that make this place special make sure that there are some things that do not change.
I go to this place as often as I can, usually on or around the sabbats, sometimes I do not make it for whatever reason, but I make sure that every year, within a day or two of Samhain, I go. This is the place and time I use to reconnect. Sitting on the stones while the setting sun soaks into me at the same time that the unfolding shadows of the coming night cool my back centers me and pulls me to ground. It has become a reaffirming and cleansing ritual. I can feel the touch of the Gods in the wind; I feel Their passion in the hot light of the sun and Their compassion in the cool glow of the moon. Here, I am regularly reminded of the existence and artistry of the Gods. This place continually reminds me of Their power and grace. Its beauty is undeniable. Its tranquility is almost palpable. It is, to me, the perfect place.