Re-Creating a Sacred Space & Place: Talk about Art Imitating Life!
I spent Labor Day weekend intensely laboring and cleaning out and throwing away and recycling and taking boxes of my pottery and more to the Goodwill. I look back and felt driven, to find that place and space again ~ re-creating my 3 season porch into not only a place to be still, unwind, and creative, but also a space, a presence, reflecting an inner peace that goes beyond physical place.
It’s that “inner space” that transcends the mundane, that peace in the midst of a storm, that gift/grace that passes all understanding, ever so elusive when seeking but bubbles up when still.
“B E S T I L L A N D K N O W . . .
I love what Blaise Pascal wrote:
“All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”
We need help from others as gifts to us . . . even simply applied, I was given this sunken lounge chair with foot rest the weekend before. I tried to give it to our children, not realizing it was a special piece of the sacred space puzzle that fit so well . . .
~ Outer Space, Inner Space, Sacred Place ~
This space is consecrated by inner creativity and outer creation. There’s personal art work and Lake Superior stones recently collected on a very “still” afternoon alone on the north shore.
. . . And the two personal life-masks span 40 years of physical recording when I was 20 and 60 years old . . . time waiting for no one, but older age as a gift if we lean from EVERYTHING we’ve gone through, nothing wasted, all recycled by The Great Recycler!
There’s patriotism and art work from a friend receiving 9 hand thrown dinner plates in exchange, and a 12,000 piece Ravensberger puzzle given by an inmate in appreciation of years of visits . . . sacred memories infusing a place from an inner space.
Our whole lives are opportunities to re-create and recreate in the LIGHT that is always trying to break through. I am thankful for another new beginning . . . It’s there, waiting for us all. Finding it, no, experiencing it on my better days, my growing days, my days of being still, alone, in a room . . .