My Sacred Spaces, Death, and Personal Change

The first sacred space I ever created was the back porch of the house I grew up in. From there I could see everything, from my neighbor’s cherry tree, to the swing-set in my friend’s yard two blocks off. I’d stand there in the summer and watch the thunderstorms that swept through upstate New York, the blizzards in the winter, and the changing leaves in the fall. I was Christian then, and when I stood there, watching the world around me change, I felt close to God. It was different from being in church, where I felt I was being told how to love God. For me, loving God was loving everything, from destruction to creation.

My next two were the roof of our lean-to and a tree that was about an acre into our land. We’d moved so my Father could raise us in the country, to be closer to God and Mother nature, which didn’t make any sense to me, but I adapted and found new ways to pray and appreciate the world. Here, in the countryside, I could see the stars, so once I was big enough to get on the roof I’d lie up there for hours and just stare at the sky. Eventually my Father realized what I was doing, and he’d join me, telling me stories about the constellations. I didn’t mind sharing that space with him, because it helped deepen my relationship with both him and the divine. The tree was a project my brothers, my good friend Shane, and I worked to build. We’d fastened a permanent tent, by connecting two different trees together with a length of living wood, so that all we needed to do was cover that with a tarp and we’d have a tent in the woods all to ourselves. When I was alone I’d stand on that length of wood, lean against the taller of the two trees, and bask in nature, in God.

When Shane died suddenly a lot changed for me. I no longer saw God in the thunderstorms, the stars, or the warm light that broke through to illuminate the Tree. It wasn’t until Ra pulled me to my feet, dusted me off, and pushed me forward for the second time that I started to understand, and started to see again. The stars stopped being God, but became Gods, Demi-Gods, powerful spirits both young and old. Wherever I sat to watch the rising sun became a Sacred Space. Wherever I stood to watch thunderstorms became Sacred once more. I built my first altar.

I had to adapt again when I moved to Massachusetts. Here I was given the chance to start fresh, to find my own spaces with no one else there to judge me. My spaces became the hill at the top of a cemetery where I could watch the sunset, the bit of wood between my apartment and the main road, the open window in our kitchen. When I moved to my current apartment, however, a lot more changed.

With my new Fiancee’s support I built my second altar, poured my soul into it, but it wasn’t enough. I needed that connection with nature, for Ra, and my two new deities, Pan and Rhea, so I went searching for the perfect place. It became a natural park near by, close enough to walk to but far enough away that I can’t reach it without planning my day around it (which is pretty easy in northwestern Mass.) When I’m there I can hear Pan’s pipes in the breeze, I can feel Rhea’s comfort in the dirt between my toes, and I can see Ra’s warmth and light in the shimmer of the marble that lines the cliff-side. In many ways, I don’t need my altar, not really, not when the world around me is so ripe with the support I need to keep going.