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This morning, after a lengthy Facebook discussion regarding Truett Cathy's recent homophobic statements, I decided I wasn't going to go to a normal church today. I was going to go to the only place I've ever found God- in nature.
At 6 AM I got in the car and headed north for Kennesaw Mountain. I got there by 7 and started to climb. There weren't many people at first, but slowly the crowd got heavier. I found myself between two deer eating breakfast, and neither were spooked by my presence. Friendly hellos were said in passing to other trailgoers and I felt a little guilty substituting this for church, asking myself whether or not I would miss communion (a big deal for a recovering Catholic). The sneaky little transcendentalist in me reminded me that I was there in communion with all the other people who had came, and also with all of Creation.
I found myself feeling able again, capable, strong, refreshed and renewed, physically and spiritually. Just past the peak, a little spot on the trail reminded me of home- and when I say home, I mean being young, hiking and climbing and going to historical sites with my parents. At the time we lived in Virginia, and sometimes I miss it, but I reminded myself that in this case, home is not a specific place.
I took beautiful photos of breathtaking landscapes, and when I finished my climb, I decided to head further north still. Driving down the road with my windows rolled down listening to country music, I felt alive. More alive than I have in years. I drove and drove and drove until I hit Tennessee, and headed back, listening to Simon and Garfunkel and Andes Cosmos.
I may not be traditional, but I don't need to fit into someone else's idea of human. This- this- makes me human. I am kind to people and animals. I believe in Love, in Nature and the Stars.