Sacred space

Finding sacred space on a new campus

It’s dark inside. A few curtained lights illuminate from above. A circle of glowlights forms the space to dance, and within that space there are people moving. Moving to the melody. Moving to the beat. They move as I move. They move in circles. They spin and crouch, innovate and repeat each movement as it murmurs from inside. They move in circles within circles, and it is beautiful. The music matches them, powerful, but not overpowering. The dancers inspire but don’t make me ashamed. I too know how to dance.

I pause a moment to take it all in, my training returning in an instant, my teacher’s voice telling me to breathe. Breath is the source of all life. Breath is the beginning of all movement. I breathe deeply taking in the peace, the beauty, the darkness, the light. I move to a side, take off my shoes and socks, and move to the edge. I pause again. Within this circle lies the dance. To enter I must have intent, and in this moment I wash myself in the clarity of what is to come. Then I step in. My feet find familiar patterns, solid on the earth, yet ready to dart and dodge. My hands move as if sweeping a sword through the air.

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I come to the field to find myself again. I bring two blades, one a wooden katana, another a Chinese scimitar of well-crafted oak. I plant my feet firmly on the ground and begin to spin one. Over my head, behind my back, around, they are familiar patterns pounded into my musculature. It gives my body something to do while my mind wanders, seeking that centered certainty that I so often lose. Sometimes I’ll find it, sometimes I won’t. I’ll often find clarity only to lose it again the moment I set down my blade.

Tonight I find it in the sky. Rose colored clouds streak upward from paler pink swirls partially covered by the treeline. Each flurry comes on an exhalation. Each spin is centered in my stomach, and the solidity that gives me. I find strength in the discipline of my movements, as matched by the glory of the clouds. A breeze blows through my hair and brushes thoughts aside, letting me see without judgment, and move without mind.

Yet as my muscles grow too tired to continue and I finally put down my sword I find it slipping. I am a sponge to other people’s emotions. I mimic their movements. I find it hard to remain myself, when faced with so many new faces. I struggle to grasp new names and remember more conversations with more people than I’ve had in the last year, and I have become dazed, lethargic, broken in the face of it all. I find myself in my habits, but so many habits are new and no good at all.

In place of habits I find places. The sports field where I practice is one. The high cement balcony that looks down on all the students passing unaware, another. My tree in red square where I can sit quietly in the sun. My room is slowly becoming such a space, but it is empty, emotionless at times. Now, as I move into the dance it becomes a protected place where I can let down my guard become myself again. My body moves of its own accord my mind can recollect the scattered shards of me.

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At the end we sit in a circle within the circle, and it is here that I truly find it. The organizer speaks of sacred space, and in those two words I’m whole again. Ready for another week of chaos. Another day of class. I’ve heard these words so many times before, and within them is pure and simple me. I am a space set aside for worship. I am profane and made holy by intent. I am a dance of thoughts and emotions that are beautiful when the music does not overwhelm.

That is my gift. Space made sacred, a place to let down your guard. The world made sacred, in all its clouds and breezes. In all its archways and squares. In all its trees and buildings. We would not destroy the world if it were sacred space, even as I could not hurt those I love if I were centered all the time. If only we could remember all the time.