The stones that make up this labyrinth are no more (nor less) sacred than all the other rocks scattered on the beach. And yet they have been touched with sacred intention, offered as a place of contemplation or prayer for those who might find them.
What have you made holy by your intention?
I have a small circle of family and relatives; two framed very old photographs grace my bedroom wall. One is of a woman with a rather determined, almost stern facial continence. The other is of a man seated with hat on and holding a small boy child (my Dad). They, as I learned from my Dad, are my great grandparents, Manassas and Medina, with whom he sometimes spent summers in a small Pennsylvania community. Other snippets of information have surfaced on websites but there are gaps. I have held onto what I know about these long ago relatives of mine and perhaps turned them into something that serves as holy for me, as part of my heritage.