Sacred Life Sunday: Refuge

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When I came back from Thailand, one of the things I realized is that I would need a refuge. My own sacred space. It would be the place that would allow me to shut out the rest of the world and feel at home. This is something we all need. I believe that.

The world can be overwhelming, especially for someone like me who treasures peace and quiet. Sometimes the lights are too bright outside. The noises are too loud. People are too aggressive. I feel battered and bruised. I need a space that surrounds me like a cocoon. A womb.

My living space is small. A granny unit. I had to figure out how I could create that, given my limited space. It started small. An item here and there. A silk throw. Pillows. I filled my space with Thai decorative items, Thai furniture. I cook with Thai cookware, imported. (Thank you, eBay!) My flatware is Thai.

So. I'm obsessed. I admit it. I'm committed. Or perhaps I should be but I am in awesome love with my spirit's home.

Seriously though, this is what keeps me grounded. My little sacred space with the things that sooth me all around.

Please tell me about your sacred space.



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Blessed refuge...

Addendum: The name of the book is Many Lives by Kukrit Pramoj. :)

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Today I had a special gift in the mail. An acquaintance in Thailand sent me a copy of a book I've been wanting to read.

Sometimes I think we don't notice when we're thirsty. Thirst is different than hunger. It's more subtle. We can go for quite a while before realizing that the roof of our mouth is parched. Hunger is in your face, demanding to be satisfied. Thirst isn't demanding. It just removes taste and energy in its own quiet way.

I came back to my den and began reading immediately.

I read while I waited for D at her post-surgery doctor appointment. I read while she went into Staples to pick up a few things she needed. I read at stoplights. I read while I watered the garden, one hand holding the book and the other holding the hose.

I read while I had lunch at a local restaurant. I read at Target while waiting for a prescription to be filled.

I read when getting back from errand running.

I just finished the book.

It was quenching my thirst. It was something known and refreshing. It was a reminder. It was a reminder that there is someplace with a way of thinking that matches my own. It was a reminder that there is a place that doesn't scratch my dry skin until it bleeds. It was a non-visual picture of the life I've chosen, life in the place I've chosen... the history, the customs... the way of life.

... the place I miss so much that I don't even dare think about it consciously very often. It would overwhelm me. It's the difference between water and air. It's the one thing that can bring me to my knees so I try block it out most of the time and refuse to think about it.

The book is about eleven characters, none of whom know each other. There is a criminal, a prostitute, a prince, a doctor, an actor, a monk, a writer, a mother, a soldier, a rich girl and a daughter.

It tells the stories of their lives up to the moment of the boat accident that takes all of their lives. The job of the reader is to determine the commonalities, to look at karma ~ how is it that all these people were in the same place at the same time and does it mean anything? Is it just random? The back of the book says "Was death a retribution, a fulfillment, a reward, an escape or merely the end to a long life?"

Those are the kinds of things I think about in my private moments. The book offers no answer. Just the question.


Peace,


~Chani