In July of 2019, I moved from Charleston, South Carolina to the Blue Ridge Mountains near Asheville, North Carolina. These mountains have always been sacred to me. During all my years in Charleston, whenever life became too much, too complicated, too confusing, I would pack my bags and head to Asheville. As soon as I was mountain-bound, my head would clear, my heart would soften, my soul would feel free. And by the time my feet were following the path of a mountain trail, I was damn near ecstatic.
Now that I live in these mountains full-time, I still work to keep up my sense of reverence. Every morning, I make sure to greet Mt. Pisgah from my front porch before I pick up my phone or check my email. Two or three times a week, I venture down one of the many trails along the Blue Ridge Parkway, to watch the rush of waterfalls or gaze out on the hazy blue mountains beyond.
I believe all of us feel a deep call towards sacred spaces, to landscapes that evoke awe and wonder, to places that remind us of what is true, what is beautiful, what is holy.
Nearly every spiritual tradition on the planet holds certain places to be sacred.