Houses of the Holy

While you might think it’s Shamanic hokum, I “felt” this land when I was working on my site plan, while deciding what trees to cut down, and where exactly on the face of the earth I was going to build this house.  I walked the property and I leaned against trees, and I looked to the east, west, north, and south, wandering and twirling, eyes wide open and eyes closed tight, knowing from the blueprints I had drawn, exactly where every window and piece of glass was going to be, “seeing” the house already built, clear as day in my mind, so that I could visualize my views before I disturbed even one branch.  I stood down at the street and looked to the west, thinking about how long the driveway was going to be, and what, if any, of the house I wanted to be visible from the road.  I stood late one afternoon on a September day after work, in the dirt, after the trees were gone, while my “house” was just 12 stakes of rebar and some orange surveying twine, and knew I wanted another window to the south of my fireplace, simply because the view I was seeing from where I knew my kitchen sink was going to be, was too beautiful in that afternoon light to be covered by sheetrock, insulation, studs, sheathing, black felt paper, and wood siding…I saw my future self doing dishes and looking out that window, and knew I would never get tired of the light at the end of the day from that spot…

When I say and write that I love my house and my driveway it is not a fleeting happiness.  I built this house with every intention of living here until I died.  I know people much older than I who have never owned a home, let alone built one from scratch with their dad and mom and friends, and of their own drawn plans, and I knew then, and know now still, I am lucky and I feel grateful…

I recently started learning yoga at a new studio in our area and the one teacher has spoken, in every class thus far, about letting go of attachments, and so I am trying to understand how I can love “MY” stuff, but understand at the same time that I am really just the keeper at the moment of such stuff, the steward of this spot of earth.  There are some spaces where I feel completely at ease; comfortable and welcome and good, and there are other spaces where I feel awkward and out of sorts, and I suspect that everybody is in tune with their situational awareness, to the extent that we feel “right” in some spaces and “wrong” in others.  It’s no joke that as soon as I turn into my driveway, or should I now simply write, “the driveway,” I feel a peacefulness wash right over me…no matter what kind of day I have had, whether work was great or not, whether I am tired or dirty, or energized with makeup on, I get to this spot on earth and feel that everything is how it is supposed to be for me.

When bad energy comes into my space, the space, I feel it everywhere… in my clenched up jaw, wonky belly, and every nerve under my skin…it is a physical sensation as well as a deeply mental feeling…when my space “feels” negativity my whole body feels it…I know, I know, a house is not a living thing, but in a way it is…she likes to be warm when it is cold in the winter, and she loves on a crisp day to have her windows wide open and let the cross breezes freshen her up, she likes when the grandchildren come tumbling happily through her doors, even when they’ve not wiped their feet, and she hates it when they come over feeling sad or stressed or scared, but then, something magical happens…her doors open wider and her good energy envelops them and they know they are here in her peaceful space, where they are loved unconditionally and the energy is pure and good and right…

Her doors have slammed shut, never to open again, behind those who brought her no joy and only confusion or unsettling sadness…I am thinking, on this first morning of winter, how this house, my house, this space on earth is the place where I am most grateful and most comfortable, and if that is not holy, I’m not sure what is…

2 thoughts on “Houses of the Holy

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