I sought sacred spaces. For a few years I attended a non-denominational spiritual community literally called Sacred Center. Unlike the catholicism I grew up with, it had a hip and vibrant vibe. My weekly visits became what I called Sacred Sundays. I spent hours there socializing, singing in the choir and getting high off the energy and community. I needed exactly that at that time in my life. I have reached a point now where my Sundays are sacred without walking out the door of my home, and I have no need to get revved up. Rather, I prefer to go into silence these days as a frequent visitor to the silence of Blue Cliff Monastery and sanghas that reflect on the teachings of Thich Nhat Hahn. When I reflect on the array of spiritual pursuits I’ve had, I have grown to honor the varied seasons and how they changed during my life course. Kenneth Pargament, a professor of spiritually integrated psychotherapy, so wisely says, “spirituality is manifest in life’s turning points, reeling mystery and depth during these pivotal moments in time,” he also goes on to say that it is “not reserved exclusively for times of crisis and transition. It is interwoven into the fabric of the everyday.” Another teacher I enjoy is Jack Kornfield and his attitude about this “everyday,” and the spirituality in the mundane. He reminds me of the spirituality in doing the laundry and the dishes. Space was important in relational dynamics too. I was in a relationship once that was amazing, but suffocating. During this pivotal turning point in my life many years ago, I entered therapy for the first time. It was most certainly a spiritually based psychotherapy and it set a tone and expectation for every therapeutic relationship going forward. The therapy offices was my first experience with a sacred space where I felt completely at ease. Even just turning the corner of West 9th Street to her office invited a big exhale from my body. To this day, when I am in that neighborhood, I go out of my way to walk down that street. Her office was a southwestern motif, and she sat in a perfect posture, unadorned because she needed nothing to brighten her up. Behind her chair was a painting of galloping horses in soft blues and pinks pastels. I remember having a desire to be like her someday, and be able to hold that steady gaze and a space for all who enter. I wondered, how does someone earn this profound privilege? I would tell her my sorrows, my fears, and war stories from the family - and there was never a perplexed brow or an expression of shock. There were no judgments or interruptions. She sat with a straight spine, and sometimes she would curl her legs up and put a woolen blanket over her shoulders, never losing a word I would say. Her response often was something as simple as, “that’s just the way it is.” She gave me permission to feel all that I felt. It was contrary to what I knew. I was so conditioned to an agenda or a rule or an expectation or a judgment. That first experience shaped my life - and it is only now that I see how important it is to give that exact thing to someone else. Especially now as I work with my own clients and in my training for this next phase of my life. Working with clients, I too say to myself what Pargament said to himself, “what could I do to help make her life more bearable?” Perhaps we can start with giving them a safe space.
