The morning exercise was to consider the question of what makes a place special, even holy or sacred. We were asked to find somewhere on the grounds to settle into and consider what was special about that particular space. I sat outside of the conservatory, which David recorded through the window. I found a towel to lay on the ground still wet from the early morning rain, took off my shoes, and sat down next to the bird feeder.
The first question was what stands out? I realized I chose an enclosed outdoor space, with the conservatory on my right side, the outside wall of the library behind me, large butterfly bushes to my left, and the side of an outdoor retreat shed slightly ahead. There was only a narrow entrance between some other bushes. I chose a safe and comfortable space with hellebores and crocosmia, plants I know and love.
At the same time, it was not totally isolated. The rhythmic clanking of farm machinery came from the barn very close behind me, and there were whiffs of fresh, fragrant cow dung. The world was still able to come into the space. Looking through the bushes in front, the distant hills and new bales of wheat straw were visible.
It fit my introspective mood, my own sense of turning inward, my expectation for being on a retreat. Yet, one of the questions posed by our leader was how a space might challenge us, take us out of our comfort zone. Just the day before, I had walked through such a place.
The group walked along the Pilgrim's Way, a three mile long Medieval route across the causeway to Lindisfarne, the Holy Island. As our leader noted, it is walking on the floor of the sea, with sand, seaweed, shells, deep pools of water and muck, and quick sand, if you stray too far from the marker posts. It took around an hour to walk, some parts quick and easy, other requiring careful concentration to avoid sinking deep into something smelly and wanting to hold onto your foot.
That was a challenging walk. About two thirds of the way, I looked up from carefully placing my feet, and had a sinking feeling that there was still much further to go. Yet, it was good to have companions on the journey, and the experience together brought a deeper sense of companionship among us. At the far end was David, who chosen to walk the road because of a sore ankle. I was thrilled to have him welcome me back onto solid, non-slippery ground.
Were either of these holy or sacred spaces? As our leader noted, a space becomes touched by God because of an experience of an "other," outside of oneself. I certainly was taken outside of myself, whether in the enclosed space or the exposed space. But I wonder if either was holy or sacred.
