Your Sacred Space

Sacred Space Belonging to You

Sunlight peeked through soft-white curtains across large windows in the dining room and powdered delicate hints of light over the oak floor.  She sat on a small wooden rocking chair next to a half-moon table in a quiet corner. Her weathered fingers rolled a flat tigers eye in the palm of her hand. There is a pleasant comfort in her morning routine, a sense of dominion in her gentle language before she lit her tiny bowl of sage. She gratefully chanted the ancient words in a familiar melody in the smoke and claimed mastery of her sacred space.

The light traveled along the floor up to the edges of her feet and gave definition in the gathers of her Poplin cotton print skirt. There was a time-worn sense about her promised practice of tumbling the small stone in her hand with her dark eyes fixed on the tabletop. There was often a subtle quake, a shiver of a mandate given to the guardians who walked along the edges of stone with their feet bleeding through cedar branches in a wind storm.

Shiver to the Bone

You have shivered to the bone with a remarkable circumstance stirring over your shoulders.  You know the orders given in the smell of rain.  You are so aware of purposeful rapture in your child’s laughter.

The backside of the small tabletop was not flushed to the wall. It was decorated with a skillfully placed crimson velvet piece of cloth covered in a white laced crocheted star.  To one side was a tiny beaded leather bag, a chunk of raw turquoise, and a clear quartz crystal. On the edge of the red velvet opposite of her rocking chair was a pair of carved alabaster Cockatoo Doves. She leaned over the beauty of a tiny bowl of lavender petals she whispered amoretti and tilted her head toward the doves as if they cooed back.

I often sat still near the window on the floor opposite her rocking throne, as a silent witness to her natural mantra. Somewhere deep in my bones, I sensed the conjured helpers outside the row of windows. In my longing, I am like a knotted rope covered in wet sand. I witness her skin is full of knowledge in her guttural recitations, expecting that the whispers between her lips were passed directly to the godlike outlines that I saw waiting outside in the trees.

You have felt and possibly seen those godlike creatures roaming between trees, pondering your rustling murmurs.  You, with your wide eyes, have commanded those Invisibles that follow you to fulfill your deepest desires.

 

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Messages on the Wind

The messengers wandered on the wind as she touched every helper object placed on the half-moon table.  Across the bottom of her table was a substantial shelf with a few of her favorite books and in the table’s small drawer were her beloved cards and a bag of stones with symbols.  Each morning she chose one card and one stone.  She kissed them, spoke to them, and gently placed them on the backside of the velvet cloth.

I was fascinated with the beautifully polished wood of the half-moon table and the very fact that I knew it was named after the moon gave this east-facing corner of the dining room consecration.  The benevolent pattern of sunlight traveling across the floor with a destiny to anoint each object ignited her simple language with intentional power.

You are here to gather your medicine, create your sacred space, and stand in your power. You have chosen a perfect shrine-like table, positioned your simple cloth, and collected meaningful power objects.

Now is your time to:

  • Ask each object if it is willing to help you be in touch with your guardians
  • Make a commitment to yourself and your altar that you will consult with it every day
  • Trust your soul to be your sojourner and the listener to your inner guidance

There was a gurgling sigh that simply marched out of her mouth when she put the tiger’s eye inside her bra and commanded the guardians to carry her prayers on the wind to where they needed to be.  She tapped her hands together and pushed them in the air before she disappeared into the kitchen.

We know in every cell of our being, the day in our lives is symmetric.

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