Sacred Space

Writers can learn to write any time, anywhere. I developed this skill myself several years ago. I practiced writing after breakfast, before bed, while riding on the metro train, and while waiting in the airport. Once I even wrote an entire chapter while sitting through a mandatory campus wide faculty meeting. I learned that I could, indeed, write any time, anywhere. It’s a useful skill, I suppose, when simply getting the writing done is the goal.

The experience of writing in all of those places taught me about what’s really important to me in my writing practice. It taught me that while I am able to write anywhere, I prefer to write in places that feed and nurture my spirit. It’s not merely the act of filling a page with meaningful words that keeps me picking up my pen. It’s the experience of settling into a place that invokes the sacred that keeps me longing to come back to writing again and again. For me, and invocation of the sacred creates a feeling of a sense of place, a sense of home. When I’m in my office, it’s the experience of surrounding myself with objects that are sacred to me—my father’s mahogany desk chair, my mahogany spinet desk, my inkwell collection, and bird feathers—that evokes a sense of the sacred. It’s watching the warmth of the first rays of morning sunlight hover for a few moments as golden before shifting to something more closely resembling white. It’s noticing how the sunlight strikes my inkwell collection at different times of the day, how it creates different colors as it moves through the glass, and how it makes shadows that change shapes as the sun moves.

Evoking a sense of the sacred in every day is essential for me in my writing practice. My sacred writing space changes, depending upon where I am and how I’m feeling. When I’m in New York, it may be a quaint little café near Washington Square, or it may be Central Park or Prospect Park that invokes the sacred. When I’m away from the city and wanting to be outdoors, sitting by a lake or on top of a mountain creates a sense of the sacred for me. Being in a space that invokes a sense of the sacred and that also provides a view of the outer world nurtures me as I take that daily inner journey with language. If I’m not indoors, sitting by a window that affords a view of the landscape is vital. Julia Cameron in Walking In This World: The Practical Art of Creativity writes, “Artists have stared out of windows and into their souls for a very long time. It is something in the staring-out that enables us to do the looking-in.” It is in the landscape that I find my soul reflected back to me.

This week create a sacred space in which to do your writing, however small. Pick 2 favorite objects that evoke a sense of the sacred for you, and keep them close by. Write about what it is about the experience of writing that keeps you coming back to it again and again.

Writing As Pilgrimage

This week I’ve seen three pileated woodpeckers, two red-tailed Hawks, a cardinal, a red-bellied woodpecker, blue jays, a tufted titmouse, and Carolina chickadees. I watch them at the back yard feeder from the dining room window while I drink my morning cup of tea.

I’ve loved bird watching since I was a little girl. I learned about the birds of eastern North Carolina in the third grade, and I drew them with colored pencils—bluebirds, blue jays, cardinals, and brown thrashers. During that same winter, my Dad built a bird feeder for me and placed it on the window ledge outside of the dining room. Dad’s favorite bird was the blue jay, Mama’s was the cardinal, and mine was the Eastern blue bird. I was most fascinated that winter by the slate colored juncos that Dad called snowbirds, as they only came to the feeder when it snowed.

Watching the birds is the beginning of my morning pilgrimage, my journey into the everyday sacred. It serves as a daily reminder that finding something sacred in my every day helps me to remain connected with an energy that is larger than myself. It keeps me connected with my past and gives me hope for my future. Finding the sacred in the every day deepens my writing practice.

Writing itself is an act of pilgrimage. The sacred journey of writing from life, or writing our inner thoughts, can teach us about deep listening. It can lead us on an inward spiritual journey toward understanding the very nature of our souls. Our spirits are hungry for meaning. Writing from life, writing our inner thoughts, makes meaning of what we experience, and this can utterly transform us.

When we listen deeply to ourselves, we hear our own unique authentic voice. This is the voice of the soul. When we listen to the soul, our stories come forth freely. Our job as writers is to be quiet, listen, and transcribe the stories that are already inside of us. In doing so, we allow the stories of our past to be told without judgment, and we make room for the creation of the stories of our future.

Take 15 minutes out of your day today. Choose a spot where you will not be interrupted, and take some time to listen to your inner thoughts. Let yourself begin to know your authentic voice. Write what you hear.