I am in my full upright position after being down with a nasty virus for an entire week.   Having a 24 hour intimate experience with the toilet bowl is one thing – being sick for a week brought a level of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for and couldn’t name.  For someone who delights in possibility and choice, this week my body called the shots, and the waves of emotion coming to the surface demanded to be released without being understood or neatly tidied up.

Forced to be very still and quiet I keenly felt the absence of my “doing-ness”.   Typically I’m a person who enjoys multi-tasking and moving through my day in a rhythm that offers time for both stillness and engagement, enjoying the satisfaction of crossing off items from my “to do” list.   Not this week.   Whenever I would attempt some small task, my body would instantly push the delete button.

Instead, I spent hours sitting on the couch staring at an incredible tree a block in the distance, its’ bare branches silhouetted against a winter sky that changed color from soft grays and blues to brilliant pink and orange as the sun set.  I watched squirrels scamper from branch to branch – always the same branches and always at the same time of day.   Crows tend to prefer the very top branches, while a hawk perched on a lower branch, closer to the trunk.  I watched the branches move with the wind and the clouds move in their dance across the sky.

The tree’s presence allowed my inner stillness a place to rest in the absence of my normal rhythm of doing business; an icon to gaze upon, so majestic, strong and wise, quieting my mind and mirroring back those same qualities in me.   I have a strong, wise, healthy body.  I am so grateful.

At the same time…in my own parallel universe…

I had no appetite for six days.   I’m not joking.  I ate Saltines and drank Ginger Ale with a straw.
At some point I grabbed my beloved other half’s bathrobe.   Not up to washing it, I continued to wear his robe throughout the week.   That meant he wore mine…I looked like a jet-puffed marshmallow and he was now sporting a mini. Good thing he has great legs.

While dozing in a fever-induced altered state, I heard a soft knocking at the front door.   Stumbling down the hall in my polar fleece slippers, my toes scrunched to keep them on, I open the door to find the young neighbor girl taking pre-orders for Girl Scout cookies.   She’s adorable and on most days I would welcome hearing the whole spiel, but I had no reserves for debating choices, let alone spelling my name a dozen times, watching the pencil slowly form each letter in the designated area on the spreadsheet.   Check two boxes of the Samoas, use my first name, you don’t need my address, I live right next door…you will find me.  Go away.

I may permanently be off eggs and bacon.  This is shocking news to those who know me.

After startling myself upon seeing my reflection in the bathroom mirror…”really????!!!”  I decided to avoid eye contact.  This is a bit tricky since one entire wall in our bathroom is mirrored in addition to the standard mirror above the sink.   I was surprisingly successful.

I found cracker crumbs in my navel and in between my toes.

​And while my body is now upright, my hair is not – time for a shampoo.   With that done I’ll be good as new – a little lighter, both inside and out.

I had a rich interior life as a child.  What that really means is I was alone a lot, kept to myself, and was a keen observer of life happening around me.  I spent hours reading Nancy Drew mysteries and riding my bike through back alleyways on my way to either the library or church, my two favorite haunts.
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​In the library I would curl up in a corner, my nose in a book, completely lost in a story – a welcome relief from my own – comforted by an over-sized pillow and librarian’s smile.  Loving the candles and incense at church and lucky enough to grow up in a time when church doors were always open, I would sit in the stillness – light streaming through the reds, purples, gold, blues and greens of the stained glass windows, feeling the colors wrap around me and through me.  Through these rich childhood experiences of connection with the outer world I was led to an unshakable knowing that there is no separation between our emotions and our physical surroundings.

My bike basket filled with books, the feeling of connection followed me home, where I spent hours covering shoe boxes with aluminum foil to become altars adorned with bluebells and candles…surrounding myself with icons of Jesus and Mary, holy cards and rosaries.  All supported my longing to hold the feeling of calm, peace and gentle love I felt when I was in church; the connectedness I felt in myself – the knowing deep within that I was part of something more – intuiting that those walls held a powerful connection to my feelings inside.  My total absorption in carefully arranging and decorating my bedroom strengthened my sense of self and deepened my faith.  I created a space that held me through the days and nights – a visible reminder of the invisible safety net of God’s love and presence in the midst of Uncle Wiggly, Bullwinkle, PF Flyers and the occasional half eaten PB &J.

My work is all about space: holding space, creating space, clearing space.  That space can be within the mental, emotional, spiritual and physical bodies, or our physical surroundings.  Our happiness, health and prosperity all stem from the relationship of the inner and outer aspects of ourselves with our surroundings.  Our homes offer shelter from the world that lies beyond our front doors.  Creating rooms that reflect who we are, what we love and that support our way of being in the world offers beauty, rest and ease for our minds, bodies and spirits.  Be it ever so humble…