I call it the old-ancient feeling.
Old because—at a random sight, sound, smell, or touch—you return to a moment in your childhood . . . and ancient because it simultaneously transports you back to a time long before you were born. Suddenly (maybe this time it is a color that ignites the feeling) you are a baby on a kitchen floor, sunlight falling hazy on your head, pungent thyme wafting from your grandmother’s cupboard . . . even as you are there on the day thyme was first discovered high on a mountain.
It is strange, first to relive a moment that has, for years, been buried inside you—and then to experience that same familiarity with that which you’ve never known. An ancient place. Like Heaven. Yes, I believe the old-ancient feeling is ultimately pointing to Heaven. How can we call home a place we’ve never ventured? Yet we know we belong there, just as I know what it is to be deep in uncharted territory, ripping up herbs.
Is this proof that we are as spiritual as we are corporeal, living beyond these tangible limits? Thyme beyond time. I believe so. But even more a mystery . . . I believe the feeling is not a mere feeling, but in fact He who is called the Church’s living memory: the Holy Spirit Himself.
He reawakens in us that which was destined to be from the Beginning: truth, goodness, and beauty.