Sacred Spaces
I’ve forgotten how it is to write. I think I’ve forgotten how it is to feel. Or at least feel like how I want to feel. Nowadays I think and get scared that everything I do is visible to the world. I’ve mastered the art of being acceptable, politically correct and never offensive (or sometimes so). Like everything I do in my life is in a ledger somewhere and up for judgment, opinion or approval.
One of the many things I love in my life right now is this: that one little corner in our home that feels hidden from the rest of the world. In here, I don’t get reached by toxic calls of the sad side of humanity, the incessant notification ding of social media, the need to be seen, to posture. In here, I can stay in quietness and be here just for myself and only me.
“[Sacred space] is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody, you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.
Our life has become so economic and practical in its orientation that, as you get older, the claims of the moment upon you are so great, you hardly know where the hell you are, or what it is you intended. You are always doing something that is required of you. Where is your bliss station? You have to try to find it.””