We all need a sacred space to retreat to, both physical and spiritual, in order to cope with the external forces that continuously generate turbulence. If it isn’t world politics, national news, or simply social discombobulation, it is an intangible restlessness that unsettles the soul equilibrium. Some people will spend hours in a meditation centre or church, others will try to work it off on a field or court, while still others will find their inner peace at the stove. Me? My home is my sanctuary, my safe space located where the walls are my protective layer, and I am detached from the cruelty and emotional stupidity of others.
A recent exercise in therapy had me revisiting my dream home in my mind, and I was surprised by how much has changed since the last time I conjured it up. For years I imagined a huge house painted in ivory white, with a sunken living room, large spiral stairs, at least four bedrooms, a basement, a gym, an elevated dining room and a gigantic marble bathtub. Looking back it sounds like something Lex Luthor would have and reflects the naiveté of youth. Last week my response was a small English cottage by the sea with an open plan kitchen, living and dining room that all flow out seamlessly into the sand and ocean. A small room to serve as my office, a bedroom and a guest room, nothing more. There should be as little walls and divisions as possible.
I spent my entire life behind walls or building up protective walls, hiding my authentic self. The past months have been all about tearing down those walls, revealing the inner depth and layers, and establishing new boundaries – creating my sacred space where I can create and propel my soul forward into a new chapter.
Mondays are always a challenge for me to get motivated in terms of creativity. There is always this emotional and mental sluggishness that carries over from the weekend that comes hand-in-hand with a reluctance to be chirpy and happy about a whole new week ahead. I am not a morning person, and am certainly not a Monday person either. It doesn’t help that being at home most of the time these days due to Lockdown Light also blurs the lines between weekdays and weekends.
It’s this strange undefined space between holiday and quarantine, mandatory and not particularly fun. It reminds of sick days during my childhood, when I came down with the measles or chicken pox and had to stay home AND stay in bed. For an active child like the one I was, it was sheer torture, and the greatest motivation to remain healthy. Strange how life turns out though and here we are in the strangest of years, 2020 where we have all been sent home by the principal with a ton of homework. Or maybe you were also one of those unfortunate souls who got homework over the summer holidays, which I considered morally disgraceful but complied with nevertheless. In any case, this pretty much sums up the mood of the day. All my good intentions of re-establishing a disciplined structure in my day were debunked. Copious amounts of caffeine for breakfast did nothing to improve my mood, and neither did the quick review of the daily headlines, so I found myself twiddling my thumbs together with the cats for a good while until I decided to move all the furniture around and restructure the layout of, well, everything.
Two hours later, my back was killing me, I was sweaty, it was miserably cold and dreary outside, but I sat at my desk with a Cheshire grin on my face, gloating over the new appearance of the apartment. I lit candles, put on music and made myself yet another cup of coffee, while the cats came to terms with the new arrangements.
I was at peace.
I am at peace.
I am in my sacred space.