There is a place in Virginia where I spend time every few years. In the mornings my eyes trace the line of the Blue Ridge, undulating across the horizon. In the afternoons I walk past a line of ancient boxwood trees, watch the slant of sun, and greet the horses and cows in the fields. Twice a day a train passes nearby, whistling its way down to Lynchburg. Birds waft overhead. This is not the world of metal, concrete, constant hurry, worry, and violence that exists at the same time. Here, I feel I am in “another world.” But it is not other. It is right here, right now. When I am deeply quiet, alone, and in nature, the sacredness of earth is evident.