Space

Not outer space.

 

This space. THIS space where I am sitting in this moment. This space with its little turret like windows, five of them, sun shining through and spring green seen outside the one right next to me.

 

Crows loudly, boldly caw their morning meditation so the whole neighborhood can partake. I am certain they are also protecting their young somewhere high in a tree, the nest not spotted yet as I walk around looking up. Having had the immense privilege of observing a crows’ nest last summer, I learned that the young are kept in the nest weeks longer than most birds.

 

This space, the one where I am typing away was, yesterday, christened The Writing Loft. It is the fourth floor of the house I moved to eighteen years ago, lived in for three, left for fifteen and in which, as of a couple of weeks ago, I now reside once again. A magical story all its own.

 

Whether like a lightning flash or the brilliance of a rainbow, I have been surrounded with a fresh knowing that space, space of all kinds is everything to me. Space enlivens or depletes me. I live differently according to the space, strange as that might sound.

 

With a new, deeper understanding, I am clear that décor has always been second to the importance of a space itself. I could live in this third and fourth floor apartment without much furniture and be completely happy. Give me my desk, bed, table, small sofa and my books, notebooks, computer and cat and all is well.

 

It is the old big windows with wide sills, transom windows above each door, rooms that invite me to dance around and a total sense of peacefulness along with an energy I have not felt anywhere else, perhaps close but not the same. Here, I am in total delight and joy.

 

I can barely find the words to explain my internal process. At the door, I am invited to shed everything that has held me back, is not currently serving me, is disappointing or has hurt me, is significant loss, or is a voice of real or imagined criticism. All these are left outside. Should they dare to sneak in, which they absolutely love to do, I reclaim being in choice and put them back outside.

 

This space asks that I honor it by following my heart, what my heart invites me to do, who my heart invites me to be and to live wholeheartedly.

 

I remember someone telling me one time that the desire was to live wholeheartedly. That word has stuck. Its appropriation has come and gone and vacillated between empty and full. It now wants to be overflowing without apology or compromise. It asks me to let go and surrender, be in the flow of now, this moment, this day.

 

Eighteen years ago I moved here with particular hopes and dreams. When they did not materialize as I believed they would, life took me to other spaces, almost as if being on a scavenger hunt, until it brought me back. For now I belong here again, allowing new hopes and dreams to emerge and evolve, completely mysterious in this moment.

 

The story of this space pulls me to a new well, adding to my collection of extraordinary metaphorical wells. I am at the Well of Space, of all kinds of spaces that make this physical space all the richer.

 

I dip into the Well of Space in full curiosity, waiting to see what is offered up to me to carry wherever I go, to refresh and nourish me, here and everywhere.

 

Dipping over and over, I draw up heart space…soul space…spirit space… space of the natural world…space of grace…space of imagination…space of breath…space of playfulness…and so many more spaces waiting to be drawn from way below the surface.

 

This is what the wells gift to me, going below the surfaces where it is so easy to stay. I want each offering to be poured over me, saturating my being. I also want to stop and slowly sip of them over and over again, to listen for how to make each one a deeper part of my life.

 

There is even nourishment in the space of grief and pain if I allow it to merge with the feelings.

 

This one well, the Well of Space, is a well to which I could come each day for a year or two or three and be filled anew, for each well is always full.

 

And now, now I see that I can think about dipping into outer space too, for the magnificence of that space of which I know so little ushers me into the desire to explore the space of the unknown, of the far, far away, of galaxies that extend into infinity.

 

Space. Perhaps that will be my first Wordle choice today, too.

 

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If it is your first time here, thank you for reading. Now that I am settling into my glorious space, the plan is to share a blog on Mondays, send a couple of connected resources on Wednesdays and what I am calling a news potpourri on Fridays, simply about the life of the week.

 

I invite you to keep joining me here and if you feel so inclined, to share your thoughts in the comments. What has meaning and certain perspectives for me will likely be different than the meaning and perspectives that fill you as you dip along with me. That’s the beauty. The well is whatever it is for each one who comes to it. It is not a template. It is a space of its own and is always available to you and all who visit to carry away that which uniquely fills the individual soul.

2 Comments

  1. Melinda on June 9, 2022 at 5:26 pm

    How lovely to read this and picture you in that well-described space. I have a big smile on my face having read joy in your words….and I’m a tad envious as I look around at my too-cluttered corners. Maybe sometime you’ll honor us with a photo of your dear feline in said space.

  2. Marilyn Kent on June 21, 2022 at 5:12 pm

    Indeed, a glorious space to write and reflect the light to all. Blessings and peace.

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