Recently, I was lamenting the sorry state of my sacred
space. In days of yore, I did not have a sacred space nor did I know that such
a thing existed. But ever since I began practicing yoga, teachers have been
emphasizing the importance of having a special place of your own where you can
go to meditate and enjoy some solitude. It seems like a simple idea, but
creating and maintaining a sacred space in a house shared with family can be a
challenge.
For a
while, I had a very nice sacred space in my living room-- a small, lovely
table, with pictures, flowers, and special stones, a Buddha, a Ganesh, the
usual stuff. But then the “kids” came home from college, and I decided to move
my space up to the attic.
In the
attic, I created a perfect space. I had a cool table I picked up at a yard
sale; I covered it with a cotton print from India, put all the usual suspects out
(Buddha, Ganesh, stones, pix, and added a candle)….
But before
long the “boys” (now young men) decided the attic was a great place to lift
weights. They were respectful of my sacred space, and didn’t disturb any of my little
sacred reminders, but somehow meditating up there on a sweaty rug, surrounded
by (for me, un-liftable) weights wasn’t exactly inspiring. I suppose one should
be able to meditate anywhere, anytime (airports and grocery store lines, I’ve
heard, are good places to challenge one’s meditative skills) but I was rather
attached to the idea of a place away from distraction.
And so, I moved my “sacred” space (now
becoming not-so-sacred) back downstairs. (My bedroom is not in the running as my
husband has his music practice space there.)
Things went
sacredly-swimmingly for week or so, when another son came home with his
goldfish, and asked if I could move my sacred table to accommodate his pet.
Having an affinity for the fish (the subject of several past blogs), I agreed.
This meant moving my sacred space table into a corner nearby which is rather
hard to reach. The result, unfortunately, was that though I could see my beloved reminders, I rarely sat
with them. I still managed to meditate, squeezed in a little room with all my
books, computer, and papers, but this meditative atmosphere left much to be desired. Space yes, but hardly sacred.
Recently,
passing by my dusty sacred altar in the unreachable corner, I noticed that my
Christmas Cactus was blooming close to my little Buddha, almost tapping him on
the shoulder, which reminded me that it’s time to seriously revisit this sacred
space concept. The blooming Buddha seemed to be calling to me, reminding me
that I need to own this space, to
claim my little corner of the universe again.
If you live
alone, this probably isn’t an issue for you. But for those of us who live with
others (especially, perhaps, moms) it may be easy to forget that our space,
time, and solitude are just as important as anyone’s. The single bloom on my
neglected Christmas Cactus freshened my perspective on this: Whatever it takes,
claim your sacred space and don’t let anything, anyone, or any fish (no matter
how lovable) stop you.
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