A Story About How Sacred Home Can Truly Be

The light flickers in through the gray clouds, a small window perched at the eastern corner of my room to allow in the day. A few creaks in the wood flooring and a step as early risers shuffle through the darkened hallways.

Morning at home is beginning. The Amtrak rolls past the lagoon, sounding its horn as it echoes across the still water. And then the sounds of the world awaken in a symphony, the newness and the continuation. Fluttering through the green trees, a few birds pass through the trees, singing in short chirps and longer melodies. The leaves rustle against each other, bouncing up and down as the birds jump from one branch to another.

Searching through the windowsill for the sky’s mood, I acquaint my eyes with the light and the angles of the house next door. A few clouds sit comfortably on top of the roof, the sun beginning to color them in with its brightness. Standing tall, delicately displaying its elegance, the jacaranda tree unfolds itself from its night and spreads its fingers to catch the sunlight as it makes its way up out of the mountainous eastern horizon towards the ocean.

Rolling over in the warm covers, spilling dreams and trying to catch the image fragments, I slip back into a deeper breath to hold on to the peacefulness a bit longer. And then thoughts begin to drip into my awareness about the day, about what needs to get done, and all of the time I will need to dedicate to it. Awakened and ready, the blinds are turned slowly to display stripes across the floor. A few whirs of the coffee grinder, the gentle coughs of the coffee maker, and the smell of fresh warmth filling the room. The carpet soft under toes stretched out, yawns that extend through the entire body to reach the ground and the ceiling. Starting again, moving each muscle from a long sleep, I extend each limb in every direction, filling the room as much as I can with the opening of light, of the body, outside mixed with the internal airs.

I pop the window open and watch as the dark grays of dawn turn into brighter oranges. Listening to the birds’ songs as they get louder, the chirps reflecting hunger of heart and of stomach. The day is beginning to breathe into itself, to open us up to the possibilities, to absorb the light and stay as present as we can.

Home is the sacred space. It is the warmth, the comfort, the security. It’s not until we end up considering leaving that we recognize all of the beautiful things we love about what’s contained in the four walls. The carpet grows softer between our toes, the light dances in ballerina movements across the floor, the birds who have made a home in the tree limbs outside of our windows. Looking about the room, we begin appreciating the way that books are stacked, corners of shelving units round, and colors contrast against each other. It gets so easy to become utilitarian in our actions rather than recognizing the beauty in the simple things.

As I extend my legs down across the carpet and breathe in each design of item that I own, I sip the coffee and relax into the striped light casted with shadows from the blooming jacaranda tree outside. Steam begins to build off my coffee and loop magically in the air. The coolness from the night before, dampening the ground and the greenery, begins to move towards the sky in whispers as the light hits it with a warmer caress. I listen in and exhale the extended worries of my day. Just a few more moments of silence in this space, before the world rushes towards something. And for what? Is the bird’s song and the dawn’s light not important enough to recognize? To appreciate?

As the light begins to create complexities across the walls, starting high and moving downwards, I wrap my feet up in a few socks and pull the sliding glass door open to exchange more of the day with the night before. Cars are rumbling in driveways and porch lights are turning off in quick flits. Cleaning up what was to make more space for what is in this brand new day, phone screens illuminate faces and necks crane down instead of up and out.

Embraced by what is going on in this virtual universe, consumed by the tasks of an office job, plugged into our vehicles and our minds, we forget to make space for what is happening within and around us. For the homes that we’ve spent hours decorating, saving for, improving, we hardly give them enough quality time in an appreciation for what they are and what they mean to us. Tuning into how the walls breathe, how the light plays with shadows through the windows, and how lamp glows in the afternoons. Our homes are our sacred spaces, they give us a world our own to create and to explore in sheltered safety. And each moment, I hope to relax back into this simple reflection in gratitude which provides more connection to all that I have inside and that I have made.

About the author
Nature turns me on and connects me more deeply to others. Follow Mikaela on Instagram or read more articles from Mikaela on Thought Catalog.

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