Return to the Garden

I don’t remember exactly how old I was–somewhere between the age where I was old enough to remember and understand but not too old to have lost my sense of wonder and amazement–my family went on a vacation to Carlsbad Caverns National Park.

The day we visited we took the tour which started at the natural entrance to the cave. It was like walking into the maw of giant beast. I remember my mom not being too keen on this, she not being the most adventuresome of spirits, but my dad and I loved it. How could we have resisted the lure of a labyrinth of caverns with names like The Hall of the Giants, The Temple of the Sun, and the Queen’s Chamber. How could we have not be enticed by a malachite-colored pool called the Green Lake and watching sleeping bats hang from the ceiling. (There is even a place in the caverns called The Rookery, which should resonate with my SFC writing buddies.)

When we finally reached the lowest point of the known portion of the caverns (the caverns are still being explored even to this day), the tour guide wanted us to experience first hand the total absence of light. Even though she turned out the lights for probably less than 30 seconds, I became anxious and I grabbed on to my mom’s hand for comfort. To this day, I can still “feel” the blackness. It had form and shape and oozed over me like some creature from the depths. I felt like I was suffocating. Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it another second, the tour guide flipped the lights back on. We finished our tour with a picnic lunch in the caverns and a ride up an elevator to the surface.

What is my point in telling you this story? I haven’t thought about this trip in decades, but just yesterday the memory of it percolated to my consciousness when one of my online writing colleagues offered this prompt about descending into The Tholos, an ancient building in Greece, a place with restorative power. At the time, my descent into the darkness of the Caverns was simply a vacation experience; today I draw upon it for lessons in coping with the dark times that descend from time-to-time.

There is a need to go into the darkness so we can experience the beautiful and awesome things that reside just below the surface. We need to experience the Darkness so we can better appecreciate the Light. When we go through dark times, we can experience the blessing of reaching out and taking another’s hand to guide and comfort us. If you are going through a dark time now, know that always, ALWAYS, the light will come back on.

It is the way of things.

Lori G. (c) 2008

Cavern Lake

The Rookery 

Images by Peter Jones through the courtesy of the US National Park Service. 

Basho was a famous Japanese poet.  Take a few minutes a step into his world:

Lori G. (c) 2008

If you need a bit of a breather from the hustle and bustle of your day, take a virtual stroll through my friend Grace’s garden.  It will truly soothe your soul:

Lori G. (c)  2008

Madrona is a vernal marsh which means that it is dry as a bone in the summer and fall, but when the winter rains come, it fills up and becomes quite lovely. The amazing thing is that it is smack in the middle of a urban setting. There is a giant shopping mall across the street.

Lori G. (c)  2008

Lori G. (c) 2008

This is the Korean Friendship Bell, a 7-ton cast bronze bell, given to the US by the Republic of Korea at the time of the U.S. Bicentennial, to honor Korean War Veterans and the friendship between  our two countries. (You can read about the details of the structure’s design and construction here. ).

The structure is beautifully situated on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. This place is another one of those little gems (which we all have in our respective communities) that both calms and invigorates me whenever I am there. The day I took these pictures was cold and extraordinarily clear, and the structure sparkled under a blinding white sun. The only sounds were the flapping of pigeon’s wings and the distant sound of children playing. It was like stepping out of time to a place of absolute stillness.

The park is adjacent to a military installation, and, in fact, if you look down the bluff, you will see the ruins of WWII battlements. It is quite ironic, actually. But it is a physical reminder to me that one CAN find peace and tranquility, even when surrounded by signs of conflict and war. Amazing, really.

Let me just end this by showing you some more images. May you find peace and tranquility as you meditate on these images.

Lori G. (c) 2007

Los Angeles artist, J. Michael Walker, has spent the last several years of his life researching the names of the 103 L.A. streets named after saints. From his research he has made a collection of ink and seriograph images along with poetry depicting the saints in unique and contemporary contexts. The culmination of this project will be an exhibition at the Autry Museum early next year and the publication of a book entitled All the Saints of the City of the Angels: Seeking the Soul of L.A. on Its Streets.

What I find intriguing about this project is the artist’s attempt to find the spiritual essence of a place, or, rather, to find his spiritual essence within a place. Perhaps this search is one in the same.

Whatever direction the search, I think it is critical that we, in order to be fully human and whole, need to find that place of “sacredness” where we can encounter and experience the realm of the spirit. This special place can be a physical locale, an established place such as a temple, church or sacred grove, or a mundane place that we have made “holy” for ourselves—a park bench where we rest and feed the birds or a cozy chair in front of a fireplace.

How do you find this place? May I suggest taking a few moments to consider a few questions. Ask youself:

What would my sacred space be like? Is it a real place? If so, where? Is it an imaginary place? Pretend you are describing this imaginary place to someone. Does the space ever change? If so how? What or who populates the space? What can I bring to this space to make it special? What do I take away from it?

Once you have established your space—either a physical place where you can visit or an imaginary one that you visit in your mind’s eye, make it your practice to get to that place as often as you can.

Wherever you go, find yourself there.

Blessings.

——————–

Some sources for inspiring you in your search for a sacred space:

The All the Saints of the City of the Angeles Project

Sacred Cartography (at the Soul Food Café)

Sacred Sites: Places of Peace and Power

Lori G. © 2007

The images above were taken by me at the San Fernando Mission, established in 1797. The mission resides on a street named after this saint.