When I first started meditating, it seemed pretty foreign. Sitting still and seeing how much stuff came floating up, in or out of the mind; tasting the moments of what felt like stillness but included so many vivid sounds of cars and birds and breathing, the play of light and shadow on a wall, the dull aches roving around in my back. My mind started to function in a different way when I sat zazen [sitting meditation]. It seemed wider, more open. It's hard to describe the sense of quiet, but I remember one hot June retreat where I was seated next to an open window. The Minnesota Zen Meditation Center is set on the edge of one of Minneapolis's many lakes, and this one attracts lots of summer celebrants. Several days into a retreat and into the deepening stillness, someone drove by with their car stereo blaring Bon Jovi's hair-metal anthem "You Give Love a Bad Name." Somehow the roar of the stereo and my huge silent laughter all seemed completely still. The vast "inside" of big mind is apparently even big enough for Bon Jovi.

*Ben Connelly. Inside the Grass Hut: Living Shitou's Classic Zen Poem.

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A disciple asked, "Where is the gateless gate Zen Buddhists speak of?" Replied the Sage, "Better to ask, 'Where is the Gateless Gate not that no one speaks of?'"

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Once a pastor provided me access to his church during a season of intense spiritual seeking in my life. While engaging walking meditation one morning outside, an image formed in the mind. A wooden, empty boat was sitting on the water. The boat was tied to a small pier by a rope. The boat was anchored to guard against it floating about aimlessly and away from shore.

An intense going inward during that tempestuous time was berthing me. I could have rushed into a mistake or aimlessly wandered directionlessly. I could have wasted time worrying and in self-pity. I was securely moored in the Spirit, instead, waiting patiently. I felt safe and kept, though the waters held the threat of carrying me away.

The sacred space at the altar and before the Table of Holy Communion and the cross reminded me the church building was a place of anchoring. Time alone in that holy space was instrumental in keeping me out of homeless exile.

I spent hundreds of hours over many months at that sanctu­ary. I discontinued when sensing it had served its purpose.

That church and its grounds was a symbol, also, of a more sublte connection. The outer was a sign of the inner.

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In a spatial sense, metaphorical, a sacred place, within or without, can serve to summon 'downward' the Spirit, first into the soul, or universal Self, then into the body-and-mind realm, or personal self. Sanctuary provides a like-attraction, providing formless Presence a grounding in the world of matter.

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We need sacred space to nurture the Sacred within, to anchor ourselves to the Beloved. This is not an addendum to our lives. Sacred space, with its anchoring, is essential for growth in humanness and spiritual community. Without it, we move along the fading surfaces, and community becomes an arena of emotional drama rather than spiritual communion.

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Sacred space can be the meeting of the Sacred outside with the Sacred inside. Yet, if we do not live anchored in intimacy with the inner Heart, we will likely not find it anywhere. On the other hand, if we nurture intimacy to the Sacred within, we can carry that sense with us and find the Luminous in the world about, even places others would not call religious, spiritual, or sacred. This pervasive-sensed Presence in the world around, mediated through matter, is a direct encounter with what Christians call the Cosmic Christ, Mahayana Buddhists call Luminosity or Sambhogakaya, or Bliss Body, and Hindu yogis call the Cosmic aspect of the Absolute, or God. This pervasive Presence, then, allows one to experience the God-within as intimate Beloved of her heart.

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We discover the most important "House of the Lord" to visit frequently and to make our true home is within us. We are the heart breathing within the Heart of Life. Then, the world and others become Sanctums of Beauty to us. We become portable sanctuaries of the Ineffable Light, a meeting place for others to join with the Divine.

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The morning of this writing, I arose early to drive into a nearby town to have my truck checked and an oil change. I knew it was on a first-come basis, so I went prepared to sit awhile. After submitting the keys at the service desk, I walked outside and sat on a bench. I read some from the Tao Te Ching, closed my eyes, and relaxed prayerfully in the Silence. Persons were walking by, talking nearby, loud music was playing, and I heard the loud noises of mechanics working on the vehicles with their tools and machines. Yet, the Silence was everywhere, within and without. After about fifty minutes, I opened the eyes and remained in the Silence for another while.

Outside a door leading into a car repair shop, sitting with a mask on - due to the Covid-19 pandemic -, breathing open-hearted - a vehicle repair shop was the House of the Lord, an altar to offer attention, time, and love to the Love of the Heart.

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Unlike an outer sacred space - temple, grove, church, park, altar, ashram, meeting house, garden, path through the forest, a retreat center -, already prepared for us to enter, we build the inner Sanctuary. As we spend time there, it becomes more our natural home, a place for refuge, worship, rejoicing, and communion with the Silence-in-Love. And, if we are worshipful beings, where is it not possible to relax into this Sanctum of the Heart and welcome the descent of the silent Inspirations of Grace?

Brian Wilcox 'Malva'

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(C) Brian K. Wilcox, 2020