That just makes me happy.
If for some bizarre reason I HAD to live in a mansion, I'd probably have to find a gardening shed out back to sleep in.
I wonder what sort of circumstances would arise in order to force me to live in a mansion. Well, whatever, I hope they never happen. I am so happy here.
There's a little article in the paper today about creating a "sacred space" and it's all about bowls of water and pebbles and prayers and sitting and "holding the place sacred" and blah-di-blah-di-blah but what it made me realize is that I want my entire house to be a sacred space. If I am a householder yogi, which I guess I must be (is that the same thing as being a housewife?) then is not the place where I live my life my church, my place of practice?
I think so.
Chop wood, haul water, etc.
The first sacred spaces were of course outside. I think they still are. Groves and waterfalls and beaches, prairies and mountains. Can there be a temple or a cathedral which draws the spirit up to the heavens better than a forest? Can there be anything anywhere which humbles us with such direct evidence of the vastness of the universe more than an ocean and the sky? But you know, humans seem to have some need to build structures to demonstrate faith. I understand that. In my opinion, the Mayans got that shit down and did it right.
I remember once being talked into going to some Universal Unitarian Church or something like that and it was fine. It was nice. There were people there showing a slideshow of their work with some indigenous peoples somewhere and there was music and while all of this was going on a wicked beautiful storm came up and there was a wall of windows behind the place where all the stuff was going on and the rain was lashing and the trees were bowing and swaying and the lightening was crashing and thunder was pounding and I wanted to stand up and say, "Excuse me. Could we just all shut up and stop ignoring what's going on here right outside those windows because that's some holy shit right there, now?"
Of course I did not but I'd rather be on my porch watching the storms come in or smelling the magnolias or watching, as I have been this morning, parent birds feeding their young'uns at the feeder, passing seeds from their beaks to the babes'.
I love that in my house the outside is not that much delineated from the inside.
I love that in my house there are places everywhere which to me are sacred, although perhaps not to anyone else and my bathroom with its beautiful tub and my mermaids and my madonnas is as holy a place as anything I can imagine, especially when my grandsons are in the tub, the light shining through the windows, a sacred space for sure to me. Owen likes me to let the water keep running and he calls it the waterfall.
He's on to something there.
So yes, my bedroom is a sacred space, even if though it's not really tricked out like a bedroom with the exception of the bed but that's okay. I'm working on it. Slowly. Well, to be honest, I'll get around to it eventually. Right now that room is where we do nothing but read and sleep and fool around and a cave is perfect for those activities if one has a nice light beside the bed for the reading part. And yes, I do change diapers on that bed and yes, Owen does call it the "diaper room" and yes, I do try to get the boys down for a nap in there (usually unsuccessfully, as applies to Owen) but those are holy activities as well. To me, anyway. And when they leave to go home, it reverts back to the Panther Room, the cave where we sleep and dream and love and read and that's my form of religious practice, I guess.
All of those and cutting up and eating holy mangoes and making bread which I do not have to pretend turns into the body of Christ (ick!) when I swallow it for it to be consecrated and the miracle of turning on the tap and having pure, clean water pour forth. And sweeping the floors of the kitchen and the hallway, the Holy Hallway where when I am so lucky to have musicians playing in the house the acoustics are perfect.
Yeah. I got your sacred space, baby. And I live my life in it. I don't feel the need to set aside any specific areas to worship in and maybe I'm just coming up with one more rationalization for staying home and being here in this house, in this yard, in this place where the lines between those two are blurry, often only a screen to separate me from the great good trees, the chickens who roam and peck and scratch and cluck, the birds mating and then feeding their young, the garden where we grow some of our food, the squirrels who race and skitter and sometimes fall in the sort-of pond where the frogs croak and the skinks and lizards sun themselves.
Well, if that's what I'm doing, so be it. I am happy here in my old house and my prayers and my worship are my life and this, this writing is my song and my sermon, and now it's time for me to shut up and move on to the next thing in this beautiful day where I have nothing at all I have to do which makes it a Sabbath even if it's a Saturday, and I promise to keep it holy, and sometimes that may involve the sacred and sometimes that may involve the profane but here at the Church of the Batshit Crazy, as long as there's some love and some light the lines get a little blurred there too and I'm not qualified or sanctified to draw them anyway and am perfectly content and comfortable rambling around in both.
Much love...Ms. Moon