Sacred Spaces.

I want to talk about spaces. During my undergraduate career I took a course titled, "Writing Beyond Borders" and we talked about the spaces that we all create. Through this course I read such wonderful books as Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient, Graceland by Chris Abani and the wonderful works of Meena Alexander. While that class mainly talked about how these writers "wrote" beyond and within the confines of borders (whether they be racially, culturally, geographically, etc.) one idea that stuck out to me in all that time was the idea of spaces. You can not have borders without spaces, and these spaces are created by us, both to house these borders and to fill them. While the rest of this post won't focus (much) on these novels, I felt it a good jumping off point for my idea on spaces.

As I stated before, we create these spaces that house and fill our borders. In The English Patient, the cave of swimmers became a sort of "sacred space;" a place consecrated in some way or another as different. In that particular novel, it was built around the protective care (and subsequent death) of one character by another (though not intentionally). In this case, the "sacred space" is created because of the death of a lover. It is "sacred" by means of being a place of life and death. We create similar spaces (think graveyards), but the kind I wish to talk about are developed on a separate path. The ones I wish to talk about are not consecrated based on something so convoluted; rather they are created as spaces away. While the cave of swimmers is also a place away, it is not a place that was actively sought out. It provided refuge, yet a grave. Thus the dichotomy of it being a sacred space. Like I said though, there are other means of creating these "places away."

One such place, in my own personal life, is located in Glenmere Park, here in Greeley. The park itself is one of the more sought after ones, both due to it's proximity to the UNC campus, but it's relative seclusion. The second is the reason I go there. It is close enough to walk to, yet enough removed so that the sounds of the city fade off into the distance. In Glenmere there is a bench, and it sits facing away from the roads, looking into the park. The view immediately in front is of a pound, with tall, honey brown reeds growing out of the water. There is a slight trickle as the water runs down a stone into a smaller pond, and fish are not uncommon to see swimming through the water. There are birds that nest in the towering trees over the pond and it all sounds so... alive.

I went to this bench the other night, which is where I came across this idea. The area smelled green, and after spending my day working with computers and espresso machines, driving around and staying in my basement apartment, I found the smell of fresh grass and clear water to be refreshing. I felt cleansed. It's this point that I fully realized why I have come to this exact spot over the past six years; it is my sacred space. It is my "away place" where I go to think, pray, be quiet, read, meditate. Write. It is the spot I have designated as "away" from my day to day grind. It, like the aforementioned cave, is also a place of death. It is a place I went to when I was recovering from my aunt's death. A place where I almost broke down thinking of my beloved grandparents who passed away recently. It is a place where I feel like I can be open. A consecrated place.

We erect borders to give us space and definition. As many know though, those borders are quickly disappearing, as the world becomes more and more global. It is this very reason that I think this type of "sacred space" should be sought after. We need areas where we create our own borders, deem it "sacred" by the means in which these places allow us to escape. While I may not have made a strong connection with the literature I began talking about, I still see some small connection between the two. My apologies if I did not quite read into the work what I should have, I've been out of the game awhile. Peace.

Poetry; Ode to a Coffee Bean

A poem I wrote for a class. We were supposed to write something that described a "love" of ours. I decided to write one on coffee. Yes, terribly nerdy, but I thought this might be a good, light post to contrast my previous serious one.

Ode to a Coffee Bean

The smells of sunrise fly into my head
The black, earthy smell of liquid joy
Rouse me from the sleep of engulfing beds
That first sip is as to a child on Christmas,
Getting her favorite toy.
The dark, smooth coating given to the mug
Opens a portal into the secret word
Where one bean from a stately tree hung,
Picked, looked at with a careful eye, in fingers twirled
Chosen to be my morning comfort
From halfway across the globe.
Now you sit, among compatriots ground, covered
With scalding liquid to extract your essence
For me to ingest, to share, to connect as lover
To see the conjoined life we lead, you needing me
To unlock your potential, me needing you to unlock my day.




-Daniel J. Adkins; 2008