Finding the Sacred Beneath Our Steps and Above Our Gaze

When we treat the ground beneath us as sacred, we stop exploiting it. When we lift our eyes to the sky in wonder, we remember humility. When we see the divine woven into every ordinary thing, we begin to treat others not as enemies or strangers, but as companions along the same mysterious journey.

"Dancing Leaves, Singing Light" by An Marke

There are moments when we are tempted to believe that what is holy has slipped far away from us. The world around us groans with suffering — cities in ruins, children frightened, families torn apart, the quiet dignity of the earth itself wounded by greed and violence. It is easy to imagine heaven as something distant, far above the smoke of war, somewhere remote and untouched by the cries of this hour. Yet, if we pause in humility, another truth begins to reveal itself: the sacred has never abandoned us. It rests both beneath our steps and beyond our gaze, woven into the very soil we tread and the vast sky that shelters us.

Too often we imagine heaven only as an afterword to life — a place reached only once breath has left the body. But there is a deeper invitation. Heaven is also a presence, a nearness, a subtle radiance that infuses the everyday world with quiet wonder. The ground we walk upon holds this tenderness. The earth, though scarred, still offers bread, still brings forth blossoms, still wraps us in the fragrance of rain. If we press our hand into the soil, we touch a mystery that has endured storms, seasons, and centuries. The ground does not turn away from us; it continues to bear us, to nourish us, to cradle us in its patience.

Likewise, the heavens above stretch out like a silent scripture written in light. Even in times of war, the stars keep burning. They shine impartially over battlefield and sanctuary, reminding us that beyond our divisions there is a larger unity, a belonging that no border or hatred can erase. The sky arches over both the oppressor and the oppressed, the guilty and the innocent, as if to whisper that all are enfolded within a greater mercy. The flight of birds, the slow drift of clouds, the dawn that insists on breaking even after the darkest night — these are not trivial spectacles. They are revelations of a deeper order, hints that what is eternal is never far from us.

To sense the nearness of heaven is not to deny suffering. It does not erase grief, nor make cruelty less cruel. But it steadies the heart to know that even in a world of shattered glass and broken promises, beauty still insists on appearing. A blade of grass piercing the concrete, a stranger offering kindness, a mother lifting her child above the flood — these are sacraments, as holy as any prayer uttered in a cathedral. They remind us that the sacred bends low, that it abides not only in the grandeur of eternity but also in the fragile gestures of this world.

In our time, when despair crouches so close, it is crucial to recover this vision. We cannot wait for some distant deliverance to begin living with reverence. Heaven is near enough to shape how we live here and now. When we treat the ground beneath us as sacred, we stop exploiting it. When we lift our eyes to the sky in wonder, we remember humility. When we see the divine woven into every ordinary thing, we begin to treat others not as enemies or strangers, but as companions along the same mysterious journey.

The challenge, of course, is to train our sight. Our eyes are weary from images of devastation. Our hearts are heavy from news of cruelty. Yet, the practice of reverence is not about closing our eyes to what is broken, but about holding the brokenness within the wider embrace of what is still whole. The earth still holds enough beauty to heal us, if only we let it. The sky still carries enough silence to calm us, if only we listen. And heaven — if we understand it not as a faraway reward but as the pulse of the sacred present — still surrounds us on all sides, inviting us to walk more gently, to act more kindly, to hope more fiercely.

Let us not imagine heaven as something we must earn, nor as a place reserved for a chosen few. It is already here, seeded into the ground beneath our feet, stretched wide above our heads, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be honored. And perhaps this is how we will begin to heal the wounds of the world: not only by condemning what is cruel, but also by awakening to what is beautiful and tender, right here. If we can remember that heaven touches both soil and sky, then perhaps we will learn again to treat this earth as sacred ground, and to treat one another as bearers of divine light.

Even in times of sorrow, this vision steadies us: each step we take rests on holy ground, and each breath we draw is already carried in the mercy of the sky. Heaven is not far. It is here. It is now.

BLESSING FROM MY HEART TO YOURS

May we remember that the ground beneath our feet is holy, carrying the quiet endurance of all who have walked before us and holding the promise of new beginnings yet to come. May we walk gently, knowing that each step is an act of reverence.

May we look to the sky not as something distant and unreachable, but as a vast canopy of mercy, reminding us that even in times of sorrow we are never abandoned. May the light of morning and the stillness of night steady our hearts when the world feels uncertain.

May we awaken to the sacred that lingers in every small gesture of kindness, in the courage of those who refuse despair, and in the resilience of the earth itself, which continues to offer beauty even when wounded.

May we carry within us the deep knowing that heaven is not only promised beyond this life but is already near, shimmering in the soil, the sky, and the soul. And may this awareness inspire us to treat one another with tenderness, to protect the fragile, and to honor the mystery that surrounds us.

All my Love and Light,
An