Lenten Writing Project Reboot 2020! Writers' Reflections in the Wilderness of Lent
Words of Faith
Spirit to Spirit Writing Project
The word Lentcomes from an old English word meaning lengthening of days. In Christianity, it refers to the time before Easter, traditionally observed through repentance and learning. It's a season to be intentional about changing and growing. Some people give up items to create space and time for new life and habits to grow. Instead of giving something up, I invite you to try to commit to answering these writing prompts each of the 40 days of Lent. The discipline it takes to set aside time each day to reflect and write about God and your relationship with spirituality is a journey that you will emerge from with a renewed spirit. Every writer has their own special voice to add to this project, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists, or through comments, prayer, and encouragement.
How do I participate? Each day, a writing prompt will be posted. A prompt is a question or statement that is meant to inspire your thoughts in whatever genre you feel moved to write. Post your reflections as a comment under each day's prompt (for further instructions, see 'How To Post' on the right side of the page). It is up to you if you write, read, or pray along with us each of the 40 days of Lent or just drop in from time to time when the spirit moves you to participate. Writing regularly is a discipline that many writers struggle with and this is a way to involve that discipline as a Lenten practice. Through writing and leaving encouraging words for others in this project, we become a supportive spiritual writing community
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Sacred Space
Lenten Writing Prompt #6
Write
about a sacred space that you go to, or that you discovered. Use as much detail as you want to bring us into that
space, and write about why it is sacred to you.
A chapel on campus from way back when. A candle's flickering red glow in the corner. A sliver of moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. The cross and altar are merely shadows. All the usual sounds of college night life are muted. Quiet and still.
It quiets my soul. It stills my mind. It soothes my spirit.
The constant communal life is draining - shared living spaces, noisy cafeteria, crowded classrooms, study groups, the steady hum of a busy library. There is no "free" time and this introvert is weary.
Here, I can simply be. I don't fear being alone. I remember Jesus often went away alone. I don't fear being in a dark, shadowy space. I remember Jesus went to that ultimate dark, shadowy place. I embrace it whole-heartedly.
Here, I can let go of the worries that keep my mind racing and my heart uneasy: the harsh, thoughtless words said in irritation; the lack of cash for a night out with friends; the embarrassing grade on a test in spite of reading, studying, and an all-nighter; the guy friend to whom I've said no gently several times and now I'm the mean girl for being more assertive and on the receiving end of don't-you-know what-a-great-guy-he-is-do-you-think-you're-too-good-for-him rants from his friends; that research paper in which I've barely made a dent.
Each breath is a prayer. I inhale deeply. Fresh air. On each exhale, I let go. The noise. The chaos. The crowd. Each worry. Each mistake. Removed.
Beautiful, thoughtful piece. I like remembering how Jesus went away to be alone sometimes too. There definitely is something special about an off-hours, empty, beautiful, familiar sanctuary.
Sacred Space- Doug Millar When we think of our lives as epoch instead of interval, we move from activity to meaning- and the sacred. One type of sacred space I treasure is special times and places I spend with people. My older daughter’s living room is one of those places. As we enjoy coffee together and talk or do tea parties with the girlie-o’s (her phrase for her daughters), or play Barbies or read. . All of the activity connects our past and present together and lets us dream about the future. We talk about everything, we share simple moments of play and eating, and we plan what we will do the next day or year. They are numinous moments that give our lives meaning. And they are sacred and must be treasured even as we build them.
Cosmos- Doug Millar As the daylight fades away attached to the belt of Venus, the vault of heaven is revealed to my eyes. The night is peaceful in the desert. Daytime heat has been replaced with evening cool and the air is still, transparent, and nearly noiseless. The dark is intense and only the light of our own galaxy illuminates my surroundings. I sit at the eyepiece of my telescope and begin observing the night’s choice of objects. My favorites are galaxies. I mark them off according to their location, size and appearance. Close observation reveals a myriad of details about new stars coming to life, the motion of the pinwheel structure and information about its composition and neighbors. They are ponderous things. I am involved with a time machine that focuses the photons sent to me millions of years ago that assemble into the pictures I see and apprehend with my eyes. The distances are so vast and objects so big, that if I were to see some kind of life out there, its species has probably gone extinct by now. Its view of me at this time will come to him, it, or they long after we are gone. On this scale, the heavens make a wonderful music and give us as a species an understanding of the nature of creation. Why are the seer and the observed so well joined? Was there a purpose? Is my observation a kind of worship? My head has been leaning back looking naked eye at the sky as I think of these things. I lean forward and take a sip of coffee, look again at the map on the table next to me with locations and positions of more wonders to see. I pick an old favorite. I command the telescope to allow me to visit this other world. Its brain knows exactly where we are and our synchronization with the motions of the heavens. The motors whirr as the telescope moves. As the scope settles, I lean forward, prepared to again join the heavens.
Each morning I begin my day in the sacred space that is my study at home. I light two prayer candles and open whatever I am reading. It is quiet. The flames of the candles invite me to return to my prayers. Prayers for friends and strangers and the cosmos. Prayers of lament and thanksgiving.
The room is small, perhaps only 7 x7, but it is filled with pieces of me. Books I love. Photos of those I love. Music. A snow globe of New York. The two Nuremberg angels I cherish. Two icons – one of the Advent virgins and one of the Nativity.
Light streams in through a high window. It smells of extinguished candles.
Sacred Space I am sitting in my sacred space right now. Our family & friends call it the comfy cozy area. When we bought this house this area just said, "home". It is connected to the kitchen and dining area with windows to the outside. I can see outside to the deck which I fill with flowers and herbs in the summer time. I can look out and see the birds eat from the bird feeder in the winter.
Right now I am sitting next to our fireplace which we use everyday in the winter, almost all day when it is really cold. There is a small overstuffed couch, a low stuffed double bench and a big comfy chair I normally sit in. In the center is a large coffee table with many drawers stuffed with things we actually use and a top covered with projects our family is at work on. Beside my chair is a small upholstered square container which is over flowing with books and binoculars so I can look out see the birds. There also is a ( I asked my husband who is sitting here with me - " What do you call this thing?". His words are.) "an antiquey collection box" which I put my creative projects in on one side and on the other side a short wooden stand with a small TV on it. We have recycled dark cherry wood floors on the main floor of our home and in this area is a two tone brown soft rug which feels real good in the winter time.
In this area I am reminded of my dear friends and family. Dried bittersweet and hydrangea taken from dear friends' yard are arranged on the mantel with a homemade carved wooden cross (given to us as a wedding gift) in the center. There are pictures and small momentoes snuggled in between. Above the fireplace a cozy picture of an Amish family gathered around a stone fireplace in a log cabin each working on their own thing.
I look across from the fireplace which looks into our kitchen and on the high raised counter and I see my 6 orchids in bloom - beautiful blooms in winter which make me smile. Next to the counter is a short family antique that use to have a wash basin on it. At this time it has a wooden box that contains my mother's silver which we actually use much. Above it hangs a long stained glass antique piece with bevelled clear glass with a pink, gold and green flower at the top which came from a trip to Wisconsin. Across from this area is a matching family antique dresser with pictures of special people on top and well used linens within.
As I look at the coffee table in front of me I see a large lazy-susan which we serve food on when friends are gathered in this area. Right now it has a special small praying statue with 3 praying people around a candle area and on top of their heads a small bowl in which one can put a fragrance & water to make one smell wonderful aromas as the candle burns. This is were God meets me.
That’s my sacred place. I don’t mean the Snoqualmie Falls that we see now, the one full of tourists, traffic and a new lodge that hasn’t quite been able to duplicate the breakfast they USED to serve when the lodge was, well, a REAL lodge.
Back in the olden days, (don’t laugh!), when I was in high school, my friends and I used to go up to the Falls and hike down to the bottom. We would follow the boardwalk for a time but then we would climb down to the riverbank and work our way closer to the falls themselves. Sometimes we would even cross the river and go to the other side. We always had fun there and even after high school I returned there many times.
Later on, as I got older, I began to feel an inexplicable need to go there. Usually I felt this in the fall as the leaves turned and the air got clearer and cold. I would go sometimes with others but many times just by myself to just ‘be’.
I had the privilege of going Holden Village with my Confirmation group when they held their Spring Youth Weekends. On one such weekend the guest speaker was a Native American speaking about his spiritual life. I was able to ask him why it would be that a person would be drawn to a particular place like I was drawn to Snoqualmie Falls.
He explained that the spirit will connect or resonate with a place, a person or even an animal and will want to spend time with that connecting spiritual being or place. He reminded me that the Native peoples still consider the Falls to be a sacred place so perhaps my spirit was feeling a connection with theirs. I liked his answer and it made sense to me.
As the years go by I no longer feel the same need to go to the Falls as much as before, but I have noticed that I do have the same feelings towards other places or people or animals each in their own turn.
I have learned to understand the attraction of a sacred place and so I indulge my spirit any chance I get. Other places have been a trail off Hurricane Ridge, a small rancho in the countryside of Central Mexico, and a trail on top of Steamboat Rock north of Ephrata. I like knowing that as the time for one sacred place ends, the possibility of another one opens up.
On purple walls and top of a bookcase, pictures, candle holders, a plate, a cross of cactus wood, vases crystal glassware, a pebble inscribed with "tranquility", a poem, two ceramic pieces, a Bible verse.
Eyes look and mind assesses, searches for meanings, ideas memories to write. Spirit stops the harried purposes, listens for silence to loft a spell of calm.
Then come tiny trickles-- wonder, smiles, prayers. Breaths.of assurance flow in to a gentler rhythm.
On purple walls and top of a bookcase, pictures, candle holders, a plate, a cross of cactus wood, vases crystal glassware, a pebble inscribed with "tranquility", a poem, two ceramic pieces, a Bible verse.
Eyes look and mind assesses, searches for meanings, ideas memories to write. Spirit stops the harried purposes, listens for silence to loft a spell of calm.
Then come tiny trickles-- wonder, smiles, prayers. Breaths.of assurance flow in to a gentler rhythm.
The funny thing is, when I had kids, I lost my special sacred space reserved just for me. Oh, I have my “room of my own”, but if I go down to it, my littlest one will sense that I’m no longer near and wake up and look for me. I sometimes work there while the kids play in the adjacent playroom, but most of the time they find excuses to come in and ask me questions while they play with Polly Pockets or sit on my bed and fold origami. I suppose that my sacred space is scattered everywhere. Here is a list: • In my bed with my kids, who have climbed in gradually through the early morning hours to wedge themselves in between my husband and and bicker over space, blankets, and teasing.
• Rainbow Lodge in North Bend is where my church’s annual Women’s Retreat is. It is my one break of blissful time to write, sleep, think, and connect with others that always rejuvenates me.
• Yosemite National Park is where my muse lives. I walk all over the valley floor and paint, write, admire, hike and try to soak in as much of the rich, fertile muse as I can while I am there.
• My grandma Nani’s house. She lives with my grandpa, Boppi in Wisconsin, in a house that was built more than 100 years ago by my great great grandfather. My Grandma Ruth, who I was named after, lived there. I always have terrible nightmares when I go there though – the worst I’ve ever had – perhaps clearing out and resetting my brain by lancing the bad thoughts while I sleep. I feel so connected to my past and who I am and where I came from when I go there.
• My office, my room of my own, is where I can write, looking out the window at an opening under a large pine tree and see bunnies hopping out and eating the vegetables in our garden in the summer. My ‘Whisper of the Muse’ print hangs on the wall, so does a very ‘80’s portrait of me posing in roller skates at a lesson. So does a hippie angel figurine from my dad’s office that says ‘Do thine own thing’. There are many other pieces of me hanging around there – a drawing my daughter drew of me at 3 1/3, which looks just like the devil, a picture that I drew of a character named Baba Yaga that I am working on a story around, so does a picture of my grandpa, Boppi, who is a poet and composer that I’ve always looked up to in his Walt Whitman beard, and so does a large-ish picture of Jesus praying at Gethsemane that I had over my bed as a child and has hung over at least 2 other generation’s beds. The representation of Jesus in this picture looks like a lady from the Netherlands – long flowing chestnut hair, blue eyes and tearful expression. As a narcissistic kid, as most kids are (I hope), I always assumed that it was Jesus praying over me, and the picture over my bed was good luck somehow. There are also candles, piles of paper, and a picture of this year’s Mustard Seeds Sunday School class that I teach. The bins of clothes that are in limbo between my daughters strain to get out behind the closet doors. Strangely, all the books are super organized by topic, but the rest of the room is a flowing sea of ideas around me.
The path’s ever able to find the unlocked door, Most often as dawn breaks, I come, before the day’s roar. Without a moment’s hesitation, down the well-worn path I go. My feet feel welcomed by the soft earth, silent like a doe.
The distance seems just right, depends upon the need, The time of day brings ambience true, to holiness ‘tis keyed. Love’s Gardener keeps the field fair, the sweet songs of birds a joy. No plant out of place, no hint of desolation, all does spirit buoy.
This trip seems but a moment, soon at the door I stand, With a gentle push, the stately weight yields to my hand. Into this well used space, my eye is draw forward and up, Sacred Sextant has set the furnishings: bible, candle, cup.
Each visit to this cathedral tailored to my daily walk, As expansive or simple, rich or stark, ‘tis a place for holy talk; With candle lit, baptismal font chuffing its special way, My meditation chair feels cushy warm, inviting me to stay.
Meditation bowl fills the space with its chime, Above the altar light descends, radiant warmth, just right clime. Holy text opened, Word Made Flesh brings the word, Heart, spirit, mind unite, what’s needed will be heard.
During our Lenten journey, the cathedral often a wayside chapel fair; Before each day’s trek it gives surcease, a launching into Holy One’s care. As the day unfolds, it becomes a place to meet needs found. Out of wind, rain, sun, noise, culture’s cacophony, precious blessing does abound.
As a member of the family of God, one is given direction to this place. In baptism one is marked, reassured that Spirit keeps this space. No one need fear the possibility of losing access to this holy spot. Word Made Flesh has opened forever its room, sin’s obstruction is not.
Make a practice my friend of seeking this place each day, first. When you start from here, Scatterer can only utter a hollow curse. As the day progresses, make your way inside as needed. At day’s end you’ll be amazed at all the blessings, mercies, joys seeded.
No matter how long I think about it I keep coming back to one thing The most sacred space I have found is inside my own mind
My first thoughts are of The Grand Canyon or The Great Yosemite
Then I remember Sacred Occasions in my life: seeing each of my babies for the first time special moments with Family and Friends Rites of Passage at Religious Sites But, when I finally try to choose the most sacred place for me I keep returning to one, small, quiet place
my mind
There, I am bare before God no walls; no floor It is me and me alone with God I think that it's the sentient part of me that goes with me when I die and move on It's God's gift to me It's portable
I am even charged by God to take care of this thing that is me To love God with all my heart and soul and strength and mind And then, I look around and notice that my neighbor is also my
A chapel on campus from way back when. A candle's flickering red glow in the corner. A sliver of moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. The cross and altar are merely shadows. All the usual sounds of college night life are muted. Quiet and still.
ReplyDeleteIt quiets my soul. It stills my mind. It soothes my spirit.
The constant communal life is draining - shared living spaces, noisy cafeteria, crowded classrooms, study groups, the steady hum of a busy library. There is no "free" time and this introvert is weary.
Here, I can simply be. I don't fear being alone. I remember Jesus often went away alone. I don't fear being in a dark, shadowy space. I remember Jesus went to that ultimate dark, shadowy place. I embrace it whole-heartedly.
Here, I can let go of the worries that keep my mind racing and my heart uneasy: the harsh, thoughtless words said in irritation; the lack of cash for a night out with friends; the embarrassing grade on a test in spite of reading, studying, and an all-nighter; the guy friend to whom I've said no gently several times and now I'm the mean girl for being more assertive and on the receiving end of don't-you-know what-a-great-guy-he-is-do-you-think-you're-too-good-for-him rants from his friends; that research paper in which I've barely made a dent.
Each breath is a prayer. I inhale deeply. Fresh air. On each exhale, I let go. The noise. The chaos. The crowd. Each worry. Each mistake. Removed.
I am renewed.
I still go and it still gives me peace.
Very nice. Doug
DeleteBeautiful, thoughtful piece. I like remembering how Jesus went away to be alone sometimes too. There definitely is something special about an off-hours, empty, beautiful, familiar sanctuary.
DeleteReflection of Spirit's balm.
DeleteSacred Space- Doug Millar
ReplyDeleteWhen we think of our lives as epoch instead of interval, we move from activity to meaning- and the sacred. One type of sacred space I treasure is special times and places I spend with people. My older daughter’s living room is one of those places. As we enjoy coffee together and talk or do tea parties with the girlie-o’s (her phrase for her daughters), or play Barbies or read. . All of the activity connects our past and present together and lets us dream about the future. We talk about everything, we share simple moments of play and eating, and we plan what we will do the next day or year. They are numinous moments that give our lives meaning. And they are sacred and must be treasured even as we build them.
Awww! I feel the same way : )
DeleteRefuge found together is precious.
DeleteCosmos- Doug Millar
ReplyDeleteAs the daylight fades away attached to the belt of Venus, the vault of heaven is revealed to my eyes.
The night is peaceful in the desert. Daytime heat has been replaced with evening cool and the air is still, transparent, and nearly noiseless. The dark is intense and only the light of our own galaxy illuminates my surroundings.
I sit at the eyepiece of my telescope and begin observing the night’s choice of objects. My favorites are galaxies. I mark them off according to their location, size and appearance. Close observation reveals a myriad of details about new stars coming to life, the motion of the pinwheel structure and information about its composition and neighbors. They are ponderous things.
I am involved with a time machine that focuses the photons sent to me millions of years ago that assemble into the pictures I see and apprehend with my eyes. The distances are so vast and objects so big, that if I were to see some kind of life out there, its species has probably gone extinct by now. Its view of me at this time will come to him, it, or they long after we are gone.
On this scale, the heavens make a wonderful music and give us as a species an understanding of the nature of creation. Why are the seer and the observed so well joined? Was there a purpose? Is my observation a kind of worship?
My head has been leaning back looking naked eye at the sky as I think of these things. I lean forward and take a sip of coffee, look again at the map on the table next to me with locations and positions of more wonders to see. I pick an old favorite. I command the telescope to allow me to visit this other world. Its brain knows exactly where we are and our synchronization with the motions of the heavens. The motors whirr as the telescope moves. As the scope settles, I lean forward, prepared to again join the heavens.
Your sanctuary in the great vast universe is pretty cool!
DeleteA traveler on his orb, you've captured the awe.
DeleteGraceful green branches
ReplyDeleteDecaying russet floor
Seeking solitude and quiet
30 minutes
5 days a week
9 months
I rest my back against this stalwart one
And find abundant, sacred, life.
precious.
DeleteEach morning I begin my day in the sacred space that is my study at home. I light two prayer candles and open whatever I am reading. It is quiet. The flames of the candles invite me to return to my prayers. Prayers for friends and strangers and the cosmos. Prayers of lament and thanksgiving.
ReplyDeleteThe room is small, perhaps only 7 x7, but it is filled with pieces of me. Books I love. Photos of those I love. Music. A snow globe of New York. The two Nuremberg angels I cherish. Two icons – one of the Advent virgins and one of the Nativity.
Light streams in through a high window. It smells of extinguished candles.
Here I work and learn and rest.
~JGH+
You have really given us a great tour of your sacred space! Sounds heavenly ; )
DeleteSigh.
DeleteSacred Space
ReplyDeleteI am sitting in my sacred space right now. Our family & friends call it the comfy cozy area. When we bought this house this area just said, "home". It is connected to the kitchen and dining area with windows to the outside. I can see outside to the deck which I fill with flowers and herbs in the summer time. I can look out and see the birds eat from the bird feeder in the winter.
Right now I am sitting next to our fireplace which we use everyday in the winter, almost all day when it is really cold. There is a small overstuffed couch, a low stuffed double bench and a big comfy chair I normally sit in. In the center is a large coffee table with many drawers stuffed with things we actually use and a top covered with projects our family is at work on. Beside my chair is a small upholstered square container which is over flowing with books and binoculars so I can look out see the birds. There also is a ( I asked my husband who is sitting here with me - " What do you call this thing?". His words are.) "an antiquey collection box" which I put my creative projects in on one side and on the other side a short wooden stand with a small TV on it. We have recycled dark cherry wood floors on the main floor of our home and in this area is a two tone brown soft rug which feels real good in the winter time.
In this area I am reminded of my dear friends and family. Dried bittersweet and hydrangea taken from dear friends' yard are arranged on the mantel with a homemade carved wooden cross (given to us as a wedding gift) in the center. There are pictures and small momentoes snuggled in between. Above the fireplace a cozy picture of an Amish family gathered around a stone fireplace in a log cabin each working on their own thing.
I look across from the fireplace which looks into our kitchen and on the high raised counter and I see my 6 orchids in bloom - beautiful blooms in winter which make me smile. Next to the counter is a short family antique that use to have a wash basin on it. At this time it has a wooden box that contains my mother's silver which we actually use much. Above it hangs a long stained glass antique piece with bevelled clear glass with a pink, gold and green flower at the top which came from a trip to Wisconsin. Across from this area is a matching family antique dresser with pictures of special people on top and well used linens within.
As I look at the coffee table in front of me I see a large lazy-susan which we serve food on when friends are gathered in this area. Right now it has a special small praying statue with 3 praying people around a candle area and on top of their heads a small bowl in which one can put a fragrance & water to make one smell wonderful aromas
as the candle burns. This is were God meets me.
Definitely a sacred fortress of coziness!
Deletesuch hospitality, exquisitely drawn, thanks.
DeleteBy: Debra Bengtson-Ahrendt
ReplyDeleteSnoqualmie Falls - by Pat Mason
ReplyDeleteThat’s my sacred place. I don’t mean the Snoqualmie Falls that we see now, the one full of tourists, traffic and a new lodge that hasn’t quite been able to duplicate the breakfast they USED to serve when the lodge was, well, a REAL lodge.
Back in the olden days, (don’t laugh!), when I was in high school, my friends and I used to go up to the Falls and hike down to the bottom. We would follow the boardwalk for a time but then we would climb down to the riverbank and work our way closer to the falls themselves. Sometimes we would even cross the river and go to the other side. We always had fun there and even after high school I returned there many times.
Later on, as I got older, I began to feel an inexplicable need to go there. Usually I felt this in the fall as the leaves turned and the air got clearer and cold. I would go sometimes with others but many times just by myself to just ‘be’.
I had the privilege of going Holden Village with my Confirmation group when they held their Spring Youth Weekends. On one such weekend the guest speaker was a Native American speaking about his spiritual life. I was able to ask him why it would be that a person would be drawn to a particular place like I was drawn to Snoqualmie Falls.
He explained that the spirit will connect or resonate with a place, a person or even an animal and will want to spend time with that connecting spiritual being or place. He reminded me that the Native peoples still consider the Falls to be a sacred place so perhaps my spirit was feeling a connection with theirs. I liked his answer and it made sense to me.
As the years go by I no longer feel the same need to go to the Falls as much as before, but I have noticed that I do have the same feelings towards other places or people or animals each in their own turn.
I have learned to understand the attraction of a sacred place and so I indulge my spirit any chance I get. Other places have been a trail off Hurricane Ridge, a small rancho in the countryside of Central Mexico, and a trail on top of Steamboat Rock north of Ephrata. I like knowing that as the time for one sacred place ends, the possibility of another one opens up.
Very nice! I love that you were able to ask questions about a spiritual space and find connection : )
DeleteBreath of Love brings us to those sacred places.
DeleteI was drawn in by your experience and also found it very interesting.
DeleteOn purple walls and top of a bookcase,
ReplyDeletepictures, candle holders, a plate,
a cross of cactus wood, vases
crystal glassware, a pebble
inscribed with "tranquility",
a poem, two ceramic pieces,
a Bible verse.
Eyes look and mind assesses,
searches for meanings, ideas
memories to write.
Spirit stops the harried purposes,
listens for silence to loft
a spell of calm.
Then come tiny trickles--
wonder, smiles, prayers.
Breaths.of assurance flow in
to a gentler rhythm.
poet at her place, nice
DeleteOn purple walls and top of a bookcase,
ReplyDeletepictures, candle holders, a plate,
a cross of cactus wood, vases
crystal glassware, a pebble
inscribed with "tranquility",
a poem, two ceramic pieces,
a Bible verse.
Eyes look and mind assesses,
searches for meanings, ideas
memories to write.
Spirit stops the harried purposes,
listens for silence to loft
a spell of calm.
Then come tiny trickles--
wonder, smiles, prayers.
Breaths.of assurance flow in
to a gentler rhythm.
Your muse meets you in your sacred space : )
DeleteThe funny thing is, when I had kids, I lost my special sacred space reserved just for me. Oh, I have my “room of my own”, but if I go down to it, my littlest one will sense that I’m no longer near and wake up and look for me. I sometimes work there while the kids play in the adjacent playroom, but most of the time they find excuses to come in and ask me questions while they play with Polly Pockets or sit on my bed and fold origami. I suppose that my sacred space is scattered everywhere. Here is a list:
ReplyDelete• In my bed with my kids, who have climbed in gradually through the early morning hours to wedge themselves in between my husband and and bicker over space, blankets, and teasing.
• Rainbow Lodge in North Bend is where my church’s annual Women’s Retreat is. It is my one break of blissful time to write, sleep, think, and connect with others that always rejuvenates me.
• Yosemite National Park is where my muse lives. I walk all over the valley floor and paint, write, admire, hike and try to soak in as much of the rich, fertile muse as I can while I am there.
• My grandma Nani’s house. She lives with my grandpa, Boppi in Wisconsin, in a house that was built more than 100 years ago by my great great grandfather. My Grandma Ruth, who I was named after, lived there. I always have terrible nightmares when I go there though – the worst I’ve ever had – perhaps clearing out and resetting my brain by lancing the bad thoughts while I sleep. I feel so connected to my past and who I am and where I came from when I go there.
• My office, my room of my own, is where I can write, looking out the window at an opening under a large pine tree and see bunnies hopping out and eating the vegetables in our garden in the summer. My ‘Whisper of the Muse’ print hangs on the wall, so does a very ‘80’s portrait of me posing in roller skates at a lesson. So does a hippie angel figurine from my dad’s office that says ‘Do thine own thing’. There are many other pieces of me hanging around there – a drawing my daughter drew of me at 3 1/3, which looks just like the devil, a picture that I drew of a character named Baba Yaga that I am working on a story around, so does a picture of my grandpa, Boppi, who is a poet and composer that I’ve always looked up to in his Walt Whitman beard, and so does a large-ish picture of Jesus praying at Gethsemane that I had over my bed as a child and has hung over at least 2 other generation’s beds. The representation of Jesus in this picture looks like a lady from the Netherlands – long flowing chestnut hair, blue eyes and tearful expression. As a narcissistic kid, as most kids are (I hope), I always assumed that it was Jesus praying over me, and the picture over my bed was good luck somehow. There are also candles, piles of paper, and a picture of this year’s Mustard Seeds Sunday School class that I teach. The bins of clothes that are in limbo between my daughters strain to get out behind the closet doors. Strangely, all the books are super organized by topic, but the rest of the room is a flowing sea of ideas around me.
your open heart and honest portrayal bring out a warm acceptance.
DeleteI remember as younger mom that it was harder to have quiet time on my own. Your writing is very clrar. Deb Bengtson-Ahrendt
DeleteLent 1, Tuesday
ReplyDeleteCathedral of Silence
The path’s ever able to find the unlocked door,
Most often as dawn breaks, I come, before the day’s roar.
Without a moment’s hesitation, down the well-worn path I go.
My feet feel welcomed by the soft earth, silent like a doe.
The distance seems just right, depends upon the need,
The time of day brings ambience true, to holiness ‘tis keyed.
Love’s Gardener keeps the field fair, the sweet songs of birds a joy.
No plant out of place, no hint of desolation, all does spirit buoy.
This trip seems but a moment, soon at the door I stand,
With a gentle push, the stately weight yields to my hand.
Into this well used space, my eye is draw forward and up,
Sacred Sextant has set the furnishings: bible, candle, cup.
Each visit to this cathedral tailored to my daily walk,
As expansive or simple, rich or stark, ‘tis a place for holy talk;
With candle lit, baptismal font chuffing its special way,
My meditation chair feels cushy warm, inviting me to stay.
Meditation bowl fills the space with its chime,
Above the altar light descends, radiant warmth, just right clime.
Holy text opened, Word Made Flesh brings the word,
Heart, spirit, mind unite, what’s needed will be heard.
During our Lenten journey, the cathedral often a wayside chapel fair;
Before each day’s trek it gives surcease, a launching into Holy One’s care.
As the day unfolds, it becomes a place to meet needs found.
Out of wind, rain, sun, noise, culture’s cacophony, precious blessing does abound.
As a member of the family of God, one is given direction to this place.
In baptism one is marked, reassured that Spirit keeps this space.
No one need fear the possibility of losing access to this holy spot.
Word Made Flesh has opened forever its room, sin’s obstruction is not.
Make a practice my friend of seeking this place each day, first.
When you start from here, Scatterer can only utter a hollow curse.
As the day progresses, make your way inside as needed.
At day’s end you’ll be amazed at all the blessings, mercies, joys seeded.
The Rev. Ronald Allen Melver, M.Div.
26.2.15
Where I Breath
ReplyDeleteSometimes when I need to escape
There is no place.
Sometimes when need to get away
There is precious little time.
So I am left to that place
Where I close my eyes
And take a breath...
And then another...
And then another...
And after awhile
It is as if I have been away
And let go of my weights
And regained my freedom
And found peace
And it was only a breath away.
Sacred Space
ReplyDeleteNo matter how long I think about it
I keep coming back to one thing
The most sacred space I have found
is inside my own mind
My first thoughts are of
The Grand Canyon or
The Great Yosemite
Then I remember Sacred Occasions in my life:
seeing each of my babies for the first time
special moments with Family and Friends
Rites of Passage at Religious Sites
But, when I finally try to choose
the most sacred place for me
I keep returning to one, small, quiet place
my mind
There, I am bare before God
no walls; no floor
It is me and me alone with God
I think that it's the sentient part of me that goes with me
when I die and move on
It's God's gift to me
It's portable
I am even charged by God to take care of this thing that is me
To love God with all my heart and soul and strength and mind
And then, I look around and notice that my neighbor is also my
self
one more sacred space
fHs