protecting sacred places

When I stumbled upon the wetlands, I was lost on my bicycle in a new town: Lawrence, Kansas. I cycled down Massachusetts Street until it entered Haskell Indian Nations University campus. Following a winding road past the school buildings, you come to a gate, where a dirt path extends into the distance. 

It is a sacred memory to me now. I walked my bike down the path until I found myself unexpectedly secluded in nature. In awe of the unexpected scenery, I sat down and meditated on the new chapter I’d started in my life, gazing over the the glassy water, the wind whispering in the tall grass. 

These were the Wakarusa Wetlands. The wetlands were a sacred place to the Haskell community. Prayer ties nested in the trees. Knickknacks lay as offerings at the entrances to a Medicine Wheel earthwork. Long branches were available to be built into a sweat lodge. The wetlands were a place where the sound of nature and serenity was meaningful. They were a place that had history.

Of course, the State of Kansas built a controversial highway through the wetlands after a ruling in 2012 settled it.

Since then, I have thought a lot about what we mean when we say a place is sacred. Sometimes it feels like there is so much to explain, it becomes frustrating. But I believe it is actually simple.

We all have something that is sacred to us. A place, an item, a memory. It is something that we protect because it is meaningful to us. And it is something that must be protected from those to whom it means nothing.