The Old Stone Church

I'm sitting in West Boylston, Massachusetts at the Old Stone Church. It had to be abandoned as a worship site when the reservior was created. The building is constructed completely of stone, and so here it sits. This is a gorgeous spot, and I come here several times a year. The water, the trees, the sky, the breathtaking views, and all of the birds and other animals make it a favorite for many people.

We have a funny tendency to do this - to create beautiful public spaces in areas where we have taken something away for what is considered to be the good of all. Regardless of the inherent good in the vision and creation of such places as this reservoir, or for example it's larger sibling Quabbin Reservoir further to our west, the taste of that conflict is in the very air and energy here. It seeps into me in all such places, and to an extent they always have the feeling of a gift given in exchange for what the giver hopes is absolution of some kind. It has nothing at all to do with any opinion I may have about the construction of such places. It is my experience of the energy signature that exists here, one which I've observed in other places with a similar history.

People came here to worship in community, to raise their voices to heaven on Sunday mornings. If I quiet myself, I can hear them, I can pick up on the energy of their greetings to one another after services. Today, the place belongs to the pigeons and all of the other wild creatures, and those of us who pass through from time to time. The pigeons have a song of their own, their cooing blending into a hymn that I think is no less beautiful than the human voices. The small birds fly from tree to tree outside of the church, and add their notes to the symphony here. An occasional car passes by, and other vistitors walk through, enjoying a Saturday morning that expects nothing other than their presence. Saturday has always been the best lover, with a sweet undemanding caress that says, "I know what makes you smile. Stay here with me just a little while."

I've seen probably 8 people this morning in the 90 minutes or so that I've enjoyed sitting here quietly with my coffee and journal. Most simply smile, some have
said "Good Morning." I get a sense of them, each as they pass by. They stay safely in the range of politeness, and so the smile or simple greeting is enough. As they go on their way, I wonder what life stories go along with the snippets of emotion and flashes of knowledge that they've inadvertently shared with me. I send them
blessings as they continue on their way.

Their echoes are here after they've gone, just like the echoes of the Sunday People I can still sense here. They blend with me, the geese, the pigeons and the water, and those who will come later, when this place no longer stands. The voices of all the living creatures are one. Past, present, and future? This morning, they are all one to me. So, in a way, I'll always be sitting here with my journal and coffee. The pigeons are cooing. The injured goose I met and sent Reiki to honks to his counterparts, swimming without him in the reservoir. I consider asking Michael to protect him, and then within, it comes to me "Shall I protect him from being a goose?" and I see the truth of it. I find myself smiling at the patient and loving energy that accompanies this question.

Looking at my feathered friend as I pack my things to go, I have a very strong sense of continuity, of flow, and the phrase from the rede comes to me again, "in perfect love and perfect trust." Within, I hear the words "All is well."

Indeed.