Mary of the Woods

It was there in the woods on the side of a small road that borders the west branch of the Ten Mile River. A small shrine, a Mary figurine. I discovered it when I was driving the back roads of Tusten following Hurricane Irene.

I stop there everyday now and sit, waiting for inspiration, guidance, and a bit of solace. Generally, there is some thought that comes to mind.

Yesterday, it was the paradox, "Sometimes, there is nothing but the breath; the breath is everything." It is not lost on me that everything is broken in that shrine: Mary is cracked, the vase has no bottom, the candles, spent and chipped. Much like me. Perhaps like you.

Still, despite the brokenness and perhaps because of it, the shrine is sacred and brings me peace when I sit and listen.