Every Action is an Act of Sacrality

Most people think the sacred exists somewhere separate from their daily lives. They imagine it confined to a place, a ritual, or a moment set apart from everything else they do. But there is no real separation. There is only what you do each day, and whether or not you treat those actions as having weight.

I didn’t arrive at this idea through philosophy or reflection alone. I was forced into it. A diagnosis has a way of stripping things down to what is real. The numbers don’t lie, and eventually you either face them or you don’t. Type 2 diabetes, for me, was not just a condition to manage. It was a signal that something in my life had been off for a long time, even if I had convinced myself otherwise. At that point, the choice becomes very simple. You either continue living the way you were, or you begin to act with intention.

My days now are built with that intention in mind. Not perfectly, and not in a way that would impress anyone looking for something polished, but deliberately. I wake up and move before anything else gets a vote. Coffee, water, electrolytes, and then I go to work. The burpees are not rushed, and they are not sloppy. Each rep is done the way it is supposed to be done. A solid plank, a controlled push-up, standing all the way up at the top. It would be easy to cut corners, to move faster, to let the standard slip just a little, but that defeats the purpose. At that point, you are no longer building anything. You are just going through motions.

After that, I get on the rower. It is steady, controlled work. Nothing dramatic, nothing impressive to look at. But it is honest. The breathing settles, the heart rate finds its rhythm, and the mind clears out. This is where it becomes easy to check out and just finish the time. It is also where you can choose to stay present and make each stroke count. That choice matters more than people think.

Then I eat, and this is where things became undeniable for me. I stopped eating based on what I thought I should be eating and started paying attention to what actually happened afterward. I watched the numbers. I saw what caused spikes and what didn’t. That removed all guesswork. For me, the answer became simple. Meat, eggs, food that supports what I am trying to do instead of working against it. That is not restriction. It is alignment with reality.

Every meal becomes a decision, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. You are either helping yourself or making things worse. There isn’t much middle ground when you are paying attention.

People talk about discipline as if it is something you summon when you need it, but that has not been my experience. Discipline shows up when you stop negotiating with yourself. When you remove the constant “later,” “tomorrow,” or “just this once,” you are left with a much clearer reality. You either do what needs to be done, or you don’t. There is nothing complicated about it.

The real issue is that most people treat the important parts of their lives casually. They expect meaningful results from inconsistent effort and scattered attention, and that disconnect is where things fall apart. When you begin to treat your actions as if they actually matter, everything starts to change. Training matters. What you eat matters. How you sleep matters. The way you carry yourself and the standards you hold yourself to when no one is watching all matter. The small things are not small when they are repeated every day.

That is part of why I keep a Sígrbök, a Victory Book. On the surface it looks like a log. Burpees done, rowing time, food, glucose, notes. But that is not really what it is. It is a record of action. A place where the abstract becomes concrete. Ideals are easy to talk about. Discipline, devotion, resilience—those are just words until they are written down in the form of what you actually did.

If for nothing else, the Sígrbök forces honesty. You cannot hide from what is written in ink. You cannot claim effort that did not happen. You cannot pretend you are on the path if the page says otherwise. Over time, it becomes more than a log. It becomes a record of change. In a way, it is a memoir being written in real time, not about what I thought or intended to do, but about what I actually did.

Alongside that, I carry a simple focus each day in the form of a rune mantra. Right now it is Dagaz. It represents the turning point, the shift from darkness into light, and that is exactly where I live now. Each day is a crossing. Each day is a chance to rise again, not in theory, but in action. The mantra is simple, but it does its job. It keeps my eyes forward and my attention where it belongs.

Dagaz. I rise each day and emerge from darkness and cold. I step into the light by what I do.

This is also where the idea of worship becomes clearer. Most people think of worship as something that happens occasionally, in a specific place or setting. But at its core, worship is simply the act of acknowledging worth. What you give your time, your effort, and your discipline to is what you are declaring as worthy, whether you say it out loud or not.

That is why I approach this life with intentional devotion. Not in the sense of words or appearances, but in the things I do repeatedly, day after day. In the choices I make when there is no one there to see them. In the refusal to let standards slip just because it would be easier.

I am not willing to waste the gifts that were given to me by my ancestors and the Aesir. I was given a second chance at this life, and I take that seriously. To acknowledge the worth of that gift requires more than words or good intentions. It requires action that reflects it. It requires a life that is built deliberately, one decision at a time, in a way that justifies being given that chance again.

That is what this has become for me. Not a program, not a phase, but a way of living that treats each action as something that carries meaning. That is my offering in return. A life lived with intention, with discipline, and with a refusal to decay into something less than what it could be.

Every action is an act of sacrality, whether you recognize it or not. The only question is whether you are acting like it.

Words are Wind. Deeds are Iron.

Spekingr Daniel Young

dyoung@runestone.org

~ From The Runestone, April 2026 ~