A Sacred Space

Sacred Space

          

A sacred space can be in a corner of a room, a whole room if you have the space, a chair on the porch, or a bench in the garden....wherever it is....everyone should create or find a quiet space to sit and just breathe.  Just breathing is not easy for many of us because our minds are always racing ahead.  I attended a meditation seminar at Himalayan Institute and found myself experiencing the opposite of relaxation during a seated pose while meditating.  I actually felt the stress response-my heart was racing, I was sweating-- a physiological response elicited by fear or anxiety which activated my "fight or flight response."  Yes, that was me, learning how to relax.    The instructor assured me it was because I had caffeine after several days of abstaining.  But I reflected on what was going through my mind at the time and made my own conclusion.  Meditation is optimal if you are sitting comfortably with a straight spine, breathing by expanding the belly on inhalation, and viewing thoughts as present, but letting them go.  I recall my ego taking over, saying "you're exhaling and contracting.....you're not straight enough.... you cannot let that thought go...there it comes back again....etc., etc." This went on until I had to open my eyes and quietly leave the room.  This it what we often do to ourselves in many situations in life-constantly criticize ourselves and tell ourselves we're not good enough-we're not doing it right.  What I have learned, and am still learning, is to be kind to myself, and relax because no one is perfect.  Just breathing and appreciating the present moment-your sacred space, a starry night, a blue sky is good enough.  Actually, its perfect.  Sometimes I find my sacred space on my yoga mat or in the shower.  Just breathe and appreciate small moments.  A straight spine, abdominal breathing, and letting thoughts go.......icing on the cake.  I wrote this poem about a special time I love-my daily shower.    


  Each Day a Shower

Frosted doors slide side by side
to expose the threshold of daily
sanctuary. Here, I honor all that
I’m not, roles melting towards truth.


From the outside, I am the muse of
van Gogh. Inside, I stand on therapy’s
couch, a canvas unbound. Tepid drizzle
dilates my crown, reigning over idle chatter.
The cold surface of mirror fades in the fog.


My breath is fluent in the haze
of steam and I drink in shades of violet.
Thoughts parade across earthenware tiles,
and dissolve into small golden squares.


I close my eyes and I am the color
of rain. Frosted doors slide side by side
to expose the threshold of daily
sanctuary. Here, I question all that I am,
as naked as the day I was born.