Savage Grace…Sacred Ground
“There is a light that shines beyond all things on earth, beyond us all… that is the light that shines in your heart.”
—Chandogya Upanishad
I didn’t plan to watch Eat, Pray, Love again. It found me late at night, after a long and exhausting day filled with self-doubt and self-pity. A day when I found myself longing for what was instead of looking forward to what could be.
Perhaps the Universe conspired with my tiredness to bring me something I didn’t realize I needed. But there she was—Elizabeth, the protagonist—standing at the edge of her old life, trembling and brave, saying: "If you can leave the comfort and safety of everything you have known… your home, your family, your place of safety… and be willing to face your personal crazies, then there just may be something waiting for you on the other side of that journey."
Something in me exhaled because that’s exactly what I’ve done and am still doing.
I left a carefully constructed but slowly dying version of myself. I left the safety of who I had been—the dutiful daughter, the steady provider, the relentless caregiver, the dancer. I left the illusion of certainty and walked straight into the wild, unpredictable terrain of becoming. I am still walking, still unlearning, and still waking up.
In this long journey of midlife reclamation, I realize now that Savage Grace is my Eat, Pray, Love. Though Elizabeth and I may be walking on different continents, we are walking parallel paths. Both of us are seeking something sacred, something lost, something real.
I wasn’t necessarily looking for God. For me, the spiritual journey didn’t resemble prayer beads and pasta (although I envy her trips to Italy and Bali). My journey involved bearing witness in hospital rooms and dancing out my grief across ballroom floors. It involved holding strangers' hands as they took their last breath. It entailed painting what words couldn’t convey. It was about staying until I reached a breaking point. And then, finally, it was about leaving.
I used to think God was something separate—something out there, a voice in the sky or a force judging my worth from a distance. But now, something quieter and deeper has settled in. God lives in me as me, all of the good, bad and ugly of me.
It feels strange to say, and yet, entirely right. I see it now in the simple holiness of each breath, in the act of choosing joy after sorrow, and in the quiet courage to begin again at seventy-one. I think of that old story where God speaks to Moses from the burning bush, declaring, “I AM.” Not past tense. Not a future promise. Just… now. Presence. Being. God as being.
Maybe that’s what I’m reclaiming: not a religion, not a system of belief, but my own sacred flame. My right to name the divine as something intimate, something that knows my voice, something that sounds like my truth, finally spoken. Something moving me towards my final chapter. The last chapter where all the pieces of this crazy, chaotic, nomadic life come together in purpose.
Savage Grace is not merely a title—it’s a spiritual map, a testimony, a survival song. It’s my I AM.