I am too alone in the world

and not alone enough

to make every moment holy.

Rainer Maria Rilke

I have been asking myself what is holy for a long time. (That question has floated around my head since I was a middle-schooler studying for my Confirmation.) A stone in a garden outside a church by where I worked a few years ago had the words “What is holy?” painted on it. I walked past that stone for more than a year before I noticed it was there. (I think it had been outside the church before I noticed it. I am not truly sure.) I saw that stone while I was doing an observation-based research project focused on the value of outdoor play (specifically, informal science learning) for children.  When I think about what it means to be holy, I think about those children. I think about their joy, presence, sense of community, and imagination. I think about the way in which they flowed from being together, to being alone, to being back together, to being alone again. They seemed to understand the essential need for both and did not hesitate to move between their inner and outer worlds.

Things I Learned About What Is Holy From Children On A Playground

There is no half way to holy.

Children are always engaged – either directly engaged with one another or engaged in something of interest to themselves individually. There is a fluid (maybe even sometimes combustible) connection between who they are and what they do. Authenticity and truth are holy. Commitment is holy. Perhaps we lose a bit of the willingness to commit after we suffer slings and arrows. Perhaps a once bitten twice shy wall around life provides an illusion of safety. Perhaps children are here to remind us to live all in.

Our imagination can connect our inner and outer worlds.

Writing is a path between my inner and outer world. (My thought is many creative people view creativity as a path between their inner and outer world.) My imagination is free when I write. I wrestle my demons, dance with my muse, conjure something ancient, and build meaning when I write. Loneliness looks different when I write. Writing can be terribly lonely. There is solace is picturing each word as part of a conversation to someone specific that I love. I love them and want to reach out and share my thoughts. Love lives in my imagination, too.

Get outdoors.

My research with children occurred outdoors, on playgrounds deliberately constructed to build upon natural environments. I believe the natural world played a role in the children’s connection with themselves and one another. I definitely find it true that connecting with nature allows me to connect with myself.  There is holy in the dolphins I see jump. There is holy in the clouds that blow in and blow out. There is holy in the hum to wind in palm trees.

There is risk in seeking the holy in our lives.

I want to suggest that the risk is worth it. I want shout about each mountain top climbed. I want to sing each song I have ever learned. I want write the sweetest words I can find. I want to give as many hugs as I can. I want to have deep conversations and share tears. I want to laugh so hard my sides hurt. Mark Nepo has it right. That is where love lives.

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