The Shrines We Make

One of the Westport Writers Group’s longtime members shares a story she wrote at the most recent gathering, written in response to the following prompt:

  “Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

―Mary Oliver

In her poem “Sometimes,” Mary Oliver gives three simple instructions on how to live life: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” In our world there is plenty to pay attention to. That is the easy part. The harder thing is to be astonished by what we see, and not become complacent or tone deaf to the unfolding of life. Perhaps the hardest thing she asks is for us to express that astonishment about life. It is not easy to take the commonplace and in a few words, make it feel exceptional, but that is Oliver’s gift. For the rest of us, we will just have to struggle with our meager words to find the glory in the everyday.

When reflecting on the spots of beauty that can be found here or there, I started to think of them as tiny shrines. On my porch steps, a white-washed stone bunny stands sentinel over a piece of weathered Redwood bark found when hiking along a California trail. Next to it lie some seashells gathered along Horseneck Beach in Westport. A few sprigs of lavender and sage from the garden also lend their homage to nature. A sun-weathered bronze fennel provides a backdrop. This is just one spot of captured beauty, but there are so many more shrines, here, there and everywhere if we pay attention.

Shrines are generally built to honor some important religious figure, and nearly every culture on Earth uses these sacred spaces to pray and reflect on life. In the Azores, I found shrines of different sizes in every small town and village. When approaching one, I might not feel the full sense of religious significance of some devotees, but I could not help but feel a sense of respect for the men and women who worked tirelessly over the years to create them.

There are one hundred white-washed steps to reach the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Peace on São Miguel Island. Inside, the cool stones of the shrine offer protection from the blazing Azorean sun. On the altar, I found bouquets of fragrant white roses. Who climbed the hundred white-washed steps to place them there, I wondered? It is remarkable that there are still so many people who work to keep these holy spaces clean and inviting. They do it for the local people who dwell there as well as for the tourists who are just passing through. Their wish is for the visitor to sit on the wooden bench long enough to sense the spirit that resides in this simple place.

There is also a chance that one might gain new insight about the people that passed before and those who seek to keep the best of traditions alive. The endless chisel marks lay testament to this hope. In each hammer stroke, a wish to transcend time…and to be remembered as a people and a culture. Stone has that ability. It is amazing that this is something that is repeated in towns and cities across the world. We don’t have to travel to places afar to visit shrines. We can create our own private ones to provide a sense of peace when we want to get away from the world and its troubles. You may not think that you have shrines in your life, but I am betting that you do. Shrines can be found in any place around us. There may even be one sitting on the windowsill by the kitchen sink.

On the bookcase in my writing room, there is a small shrine that gives me so much pleasure to look at. There is a print of water glimmering on the shore as evening approaches the coast of Monhegan Island. It is an artist’s capture of inky blues and golden waning light, but it is also a reminder of the adventure that I was lucky enough to share with my beloved sister who has since passed. When I see that picture, I think of the walks we shared on the rocky coast and the glasses of wine sipped on the inn’s porch looking at the clouds floated by.

Nearby, there is a gavel, handmade by a student whose name has been sadly forgotten. That wooden gavel became engraved with so many names over the years by students reenacting the trial scene of Tom Robinson in To Kill a Mockingbird. I can picture Spenser with his feet up on the desk, bubble gum cigar in mouth, pounding the judge’s gavel when the courtroom got too noisy.

I didn’t realize at the time that a memory was being created. The life of a teacher is filled with so many ups and downs. That small gavel brings back a rush of feelings about the good that I created in that classroom. Things that might otherwise be forgotten. That is the thing about astonishment. It doesn’t always happen at the exact moment of occurrence. Sometimes it takes a while for it to sink in. That simple gavel resting on its little wooden stand honors those young people who came into my life for a short time and then went on their way to the lives they have chosen.

We all have people who have come into our lives for a brief stay. They left their mark on our psyche and in our hearts. Their names may be forgotten, but their impact has not.  We are part of the past and part of the present. We are our memories and influences intertwined to make us who we are today. Our shrines are a testament to the lives we have created, or perhaps more accurately, the lives that were created for us. Life is happening before us in amazing ways. If we stop to pay attention, life can’t help but astound us. A shrine is a way to keep those moments alive.