Some people may consider me an atheist, a label not applicable in that I am not. For me the simple fact that denying there is a god acknowledges that there is the possibility of a god and consequently the existence of a devil or hell. I feel that Nature abhors any situation in which there is no balance; there must be equilibrium as contained in yin and yang, heaven and hell, right and wrong or even hot and cold. I would reconcile myself to be labeled as an agnostic for those who must apply a label to feel comfortable. However, given even under the best of circumstances there are occasions when these philosophies are shaken and conform to me the tenets of Confucianism. I guess I am also known to have a dislike of church as I define these as institutions of Man and divided by dogma and schism.

It was an early start in the gloom of the predawn darkness. There were still remnants of ground fog adding a veil to the immediate surroundings. The only sounds were those of my boots scrunching on gravel, the backdrop of water rushing over rocks in the river with the counterpoint of wind rustling leaves and twigs in the trees and corn fields along the trail. This natural symphonic sound poem far surpassed anything ever written by Man including the great pieces by Jean Sibelius. After this pastoral introduction to this fugue there began the introduction of the honking of geese high overhead and bleating of white swans as they fed in the river. Overhead were the flights of ducks headed south, dainty deer were in the fields delicately browsing on ears of corn. There were solitary squirrels chattering in the trees and inquisitive rabbits annoyed by the intrusion of a mortal. A stork flapped noisily as it left its nest on top of a farm house and started its climb toward the heavens as if it were an emissary of earth taking mortal entreaties for consideration. This natural melody rippled across the valley almost drowning out the tinkle of the cow bells and the deeper boom of church bells.

The woods were cathedral pines, trees that soared upwards without branches for some distance before the branches started and made arches reminiscent of the arched vaults of a Gothic cathedral. The floor of this cathedral was fern and the light that filtered through the arches seemed to have passed through stained glass windows. One's attention was directed upwards toward the brightness of the light as if one were being drawn toward a massive circular window behind the altar of a massive cathedral apse.

I broke out of the woods at the crest of the slope as if I had been climbing a high altar and before me was the tapestry of the Alps resembling a massive organ with pipes of dissimilar size and length all striving for attention as they struggled for recognition in their reaching for the heavens. The sun was just behind the crest and gave a radiance of red beams such as renaissance artists inspired to have painted as backdrops for the saints and other god like images.

Suddenly the sun exploded above the crest bathing the world with light and warmth and I could not help but hark back to my early existence and the words "this is my body" and "this is my blood" transformed the brotchen and coffee instantly to something far beyond its mere physical manifestations.

What the significance of this is unclear, something I will contemplate for ages. It was a singular experience that perhaps will never again occur for me. It could only have taken place in a cathedral of God and not the mortar and brick, nails and wood. Had I been ten minutes early or ten minutes later I would have not witnessed this.