GARDENS WITHIN
Your creative practices can be a distinct sanctuary, honest and bright
Welcome to Gentle Musings, a publication about reconnecting with yourself, experiencing life as a creative practice, and living out loud. Gentle Musings is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support this work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Today’s letter is from the archive. It’s about holding sanctuary and being held by sanctuary.
This sounds very serious, but our personal practice and experiences of sanctuary also get to be playful, wondrous, emergent. I like to think of sanctuary—both physical and experiential—as a place to commune with mystery. A place where it’s ok to not know, to not try to figure it all out. Sometimes, it’s when you tap into flow and feel truly yourself.
Here’s an example from this week: I found myself laying my jewelry out on the bed to move it into a new jewelry box, a gift that would delight myself as a child and a gift to who I am becoming—it’s definitely a step up from current makeshift set up.
As I held jeweled earrings and draped necklaces that I made almost a decade ago on my white quilt (with Gilmore Girls in the background), I remembered how arranging, organizing, and interacting with beautiful objects was a main hobby as a kid. It was a time when I didn’t have to remember anything or complete anything or keep up with anything at all. Just me and beautiful, special objects that no one else had to appreciate. Being with my collections was and continues to be a kind of sanctuary.
Another one of my sanctuaries is my harvesting practice. As I share here, a harvesting practice gives you the time to remember your wisdom, craft the declarations you most want to remember, and synchronize with the rhythm of your own being. It is one powerful way to turn raw insight into tangible writing projects (and it’s great to do when you don’t feel like writing).
~ Interested in a digital guide that walks you through, step-by-step, how to have a harvesting practice? I made it for you ~
What is sanctuary to you?
Do you have a vision of a place that you return to as a regular practice?
Do you have a physical place that acts as a sanctuary?
So much of Regarding Dew is about practicing a return to the sacred garden of sanctuary, to tend to it, to listen, and to try to bring it forward with devotion.
I try to convey the qualities of this sacred place in what I make: warm, lush, and embracing.
And also, like a garden: forever in-process and with a certain expression of audacity.
If you are lucky enough to have an actual garden, then it's likely a sanctuary in your life. And if you have the advantage of owning a porch, a chair with a view and a spot in the sun might be this place for you. It might be the bath. The yoga mat. An altar to your ancestors. A writing desk. The blank canvas. Your hand on your belly with a silent exchange of apology and forgiveness.
Lingering conversations at the table, whether over waffles or red wine, are one of my favorite sanctuaries.
Your creative practices can be a distinct sanctuary, honest and bright.
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But really, having these letters in dialogue makes it all the more creative and fulfilling, and it helps this work reach more kindred spirits.
In writing about a sanctuary through a garden door, I am keeping the ‘door’ partially open to this piece so that you can get a sense of what they are like if you are a free subscriber. Please do let me know if you enjoy it, and consider upgrading if you do! Thank you for being here.
Now onto GARDENS WITHIN…
Sanctuary
Sanctus
Holy
The place, material or immaterial, that you tap into to remember, reclaim, and embody what feels sacred to you.
What is sacred might be gratitude so deep that you can feel it settle in your pelvic bowl.
What is sacred might be cherishing something so tenderly to the point where bliss and grief swirl.
What is sacred might be an unshakeable connection to something eternal or larger than the boundaries of your own drop in time.
Layers in the canyon. When a cat boops your nose. The ancient ebb and flow of your breath. A saint, ancestor, divine figure, or a love so enormous that it feels inexplicably holy.