The Sacred Ordinary: Reunion

 

The Sacred Ordinary: Reunion

Invocation

Sunlight streamed through the slats of the old barn, casting golden stripes across dust and straw. I stood beside him—cream-colored dress, black ribbon at my neck, the air thick with memory. He wore a straw hat and suspenders, the same quiet steadiness in his posture that I remembered. Behind us, the cow watched like a witness to something ancient.

We hadn’t seen each other in two years. The barn was full of people, voices rising and falling, but none of it touched us. When our eyes met, the world blurred. We fell into that place we’d always known.

Meditation

It was like slipping through a trapdoor into the rabbit hole—our shared mind, our secret chamber. The crowd tried to distract us, to pull us back to the surface, but we were already submerged. For nearly fifteen years, we’d lived inside each other’s thoughts. That reunion wasn’t a beginning—it was a remembering.

I told him I owed him a debt I could never repay. He didn’t need to hear it. We both knew. In that moment, we were conjuring what we needed from the world. It was survival, yes—but also grace. The kind that only comes when two souls merge in silence.

Benediction

Eventually, we surfaced. The light shifted. The cow turned. The barn reclaimed its shape. We parted again, each carrying the imprint of that descent.

But the rhythm remains: chaos, immersion, return. And the image—two figures in a barn, dressed for memory, lit by something more than sun—reminds me that the sacred is never far. It lives in the ordinary, waiting for us to fall in again.