A house that offers sanctuary, that embraces family and friends alike with comfort and warmth, becomes a refuge from the world outside—a truly peaceful home and haven that soothes the senses and refreshes the spirit.
—Heuer, Ann Rooney. Creating The Peaceful Home. 15 West 26th Street, New York, New York: Friedman/Fairfax Publishers, 1999.
This is the bright home in which I live, this is where I ask my friends to come, this is where I want to love all the things it has taken me so long to learn to love.
—David Whyte Excerpt from “The House of Belonging”
Solitude itself is a way of waiting for the inaudible and the invisible to make itself felt. And that is why solitude is never static and never hopeless. On the other hand, every friend who comes to stay enriches the solitude forever; presence, if it has been real presence, does not ever leave.
—May Sarton
Sanctuary
I believe my body is my sacred space. Wherever I am, it is a place of refuge and sanctity for me and yet, without a sanctuary to retreat to, this body would be lost, adrift in chaos. Perhaps, for me at least, this is the difference between a sacred space and a sanctuary. I believe that all space is sacred, from the Buddhist temples in India to the the mass burial grounds of Cambodia but not all sacred space is necessarily a sanctuary for all.
When I was a child, there was no place to go to be alone in my home. My brother and I shared the same room until he left for Viet Nam and I left for college. I found sanctuary in an old oak tree in the woods near the railroad tracks not far from our home. I would spend hours there watching the birds at eye level and following the ants as they made their way through hidden trails into the catacombs of the tree’s heart. It was my first conscious awareness of sacred space and what it meant to have a sanctuary. On a visit home, I discovered my beloved tree had been cut down and replaced with a mini-mall.
Some years ago I had the privilege of attending a lecture by Joseph Campbell shortly before his departure from this world. More than once he reiterated the importance of having a sacred space— a sanctuary where one could go listen to his favorite music, read his favorite books, lose awareness of the business of living and instead reflect on its joys. Ever since that experience, having a sanctuary has become as important to me as having air to breathe. After being around people all day at work, I look forward to the quiet and solitude. Sometimes I read or write but often I just sit and look out the window. At my core I am a loner yet I exist in a socialized world. I don’t fit well in today’s hustle, bustle 24/7 lifestyle. I need time alone to reflect, to recharge, to clear the cobwebs from my head and sometimes, to do nothing at all.
Throughout the years, my sanctuary has taken on various forms, from a tiny two person tent during the four years I led bicycle tours around the world, to a small dormer loft that provided refuge when I lived in Canada. My current sanctuary is a Casita located behind the main house outside the city limits. It has a secret garden kind of entrance, which separates it from the rest of the yard. The songs of birds and the bubbling of the koi pond converge at my ears. The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle fills my nostrils when a slight breeze blows. Inside, there is enough room to do yoga, a bed for naps and sleeping, a desk for writing and a trunk to hold my art supplies. My Chinese calligraphy brushes hang on the wall and my books have easily relocated to their new home.
As much as my sanctuary is defined by what it contains, it is also defined by what is absent. There are no distractions here, no television, no strangers knocking at my door.
I can turn off the phone, close the door and the world becomes this little room. I like knowing I can leave this space and when I return everything will be the same, waiting for me to take up life where I last left off. From this single room I travel to the farthest corners of the universe. I want for little more.