There are spaces sacred to many, and spaces sacred to few.
And then there are spaces sacred mainly to ourselves.
Often it is that we must relinquish these spaces, in their external form, for reasons logistical.
Perhaps we are no longer able to live in a house. Perhaps we must move away.
It is then that we must agree to bring the sacredness of these spaces into our bodies. We must imprint them upon our souls. We must allow for the intermingling of the space spirit with our own.
A joyful/painful process, this.
For in relinquishing the external, there is a leaving. There is a parting, not only with the space, but with the version of our self that once inhabited that space.
Today, I parted with a earlier version of myself, leaving her to inhabit a space I dearly loved.
This earlier verson was at once blazingly optimistic about the future, and fearful.
She was a dreamer and a writer and a wanderer.
She sat in the chair of her cottage by the shore, and wove sentences and paragraphs from words.
She watched the cranes and the clam-diggers zig-zag the cove.
She experienced the dissolution of her marriage, and her home, and her job.
She felt the sacredness of her space as a cradle, and a springboard.
She became the self that is me, today.
Today, that self left her cottage space for the last time. She handed a set of keys to the new owner.
She hugged that fortunate owner, and wished her well.
And, upon leaving, understood that sacredness is all the more so when it is no longer merely external.
And, upon leaving, understood that sacredness is all the more so when it is, upon departure, shared.
Flying Point 2010