missing sacred things

I missed being home most this week.

I want to be a pilgrim walking to Chimayo. I want to sift the holy dirt through my hands and sit in the knobbly wooden pews of the ancient church. I want to smell the sagebrush of the New Mexican landscape.

I want to go to Easter brunch with my family and eat a lot of food in nice clothes.

I want to sit in a cozy house during Passover and listen to the story of the Jew's escape out of Egypt, and drink wine and eat lamb and matza, and smear chicken blood on Ned's door with a twig.

I want to drive up to Taos and chant Hanuman Chalisas at 4am. I want to chop carrots in the kitchen and meditate in the prayer room. I want to walk barefoot and drink chai. I want to wrap a shawl around my shoulders and sing Chalisas until it is so hot and crowded with Indian families that I escape outside to watch the Sikh men cook giant woks full of vegetables with ghee.

So many sacred events are happening right now in America.

Nothing is happening in China.

Last night, I read aloud some passages on Jesus's resurrection out of my New Testament to celebrate Easter.

It was special, but not special enough...