If you are not female, don’t bother to read on. This is about shoes. Mostly. Sort of. Anyway, men don’t ‘get’ shoes. It’s ok. I don’t get football.
As I eagerly await today’s arrival of my very cool cowboy boots I ordered online, to be delivered by UPS today and which I have been tracking along their journey from Louisville to Houston, I find myself contemplating the sacred in the everyday. (As an aside here, I always mistype ‘sacred’, as ‘scared’. I am sure there is deep meaning in that). I was just now sitting having my favorite peppermint and licorice tea, and I was thinking of when my cool boots get here (did I mention today?), that I will try them on: now, not just any try-them-on, mind you. At first I thought that I’d just throw them on to see if they fit, then I found myself daydreaming about which socks I’d put on for the first try-on, and maybe which skirt, or which whole outfit I’d don before pulling them on, so the first time they are on my feet, I’d get the full effect. Urban Prairie, Boho Tejas, Cowgirl Chic. You get the idea.
There are little things like that in my life I create sacred space around. I guess my new cowboy boots is one. My morning tea is another. A flood of good feelings associated with the indescribable delight of tea washes over me; sort of like memories, but without images. Swinging on a swingset is another. I love that. I still love it and always have loved it. And now that I am a big kid, I have to seek out the really cool park swingsets with the wide rubber strap seats. It just sends me into fits of laughter- especially on the upswing if I extend my arms and lean waaaaaaaaaaaay, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back!
I also hyper-sacredize movies. Going to the movies, really. That is a sacred art space. That’s why I get so pissed when people talk in the movies. It breaks the spell. Movies are meant to draw you in, envelope you, wrap you up in their magic. Rent a movie at home with your pals if you wanna chat about everything you see in it as it goes by. Movies at home are nowhere near as sacred. You’re not in the temple.
Starting and finishing new book is another. I picked up a copy of Neil Gaiman’s ‘Anansi Boys’, and I haven’t started it yet because I haven’t quite found that perfect moment to open it’s cover, smell the woody scent of its paper and the sweetness of its ink…
There seem to be so many (too many) have no sense of the sacred. I feel sorry for them.
As I practice paying attention to the sacred in seemingly mundane activities, I wonder if I can enfold my life in more awe and delight…
As I eagerly await today’s arrival of my very cool cowboy boots I ordered online, to be delivered by UPS today and which I have been tracking along their journey from Louisville to Houston, I find myself contemplating the sacred in the everyday. (As an aside here, I always mistype ‘sacred’, as ‘scared’. I am sure there is deep meaning in that). I was just now sitting having my favorite peppermint and licorice tea, and I was thinking of when my cool boots get here (did I mention today?), that I will try them on: now, not just any try-them-on, mind you. At first I thought that I’d just throw them on to see if they fit, then I found myself daydreaming about which socks I’d put on for the first try-on, and maybe which skirt, or which whole outfit I’d don before pulling them on, so the first time they are on my feet, I’d get the full effect. Urban Prairie, Boho Tejas, Cowgirl Chic. You get the idea.
There are little things like that in my life I create sacred space around. I guess my new cowboy boots is one. My morning tea is another. A flood of good feelings associated with the indescribable delight of tea washes over me; sort of like memories, but without images. Swinging on a swingset is another. I love that. I still love it and always have loved it. And now that I am a big kid, I have to seek out the really cool park swingsets with the wide rubber strap seats. It just sends me into fits of laughter- especially on the upswing if I extend my arms and lean waaaaaaaaaaaay, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back!
I also hyper-sacredize movies. Going to the movies, really. That is a sacred art space. That’s why I get so pissed when people talk in the movies. It breaks the spell. Movies are meant to draw you in, envelope you, wrap you up in their magic. Rent a movie at home with your pals if you wanna chat about everything you see in it as it goes by. Movies at home are nowhere near as sacred. You’re not in the temple.
Starting and finishing new book is another. I picked up a copy of Neil Gaiman’s ‘Anansi Boys’, and I haven’t started it yet because I haven’t quite found that perfect moment to open it’s cover, smell the woody scent of its paper and the sweetness of its ink…
There seem to be so many (too many) have no sense of the sacred. I feel sorry for them.
As I practice paying attention to the sacred in seemingly mundane activities, I wonder if I can enfold my life in more awe and delight…
Anansi Boys sat on my bookshelf for far longer than I had thought it would for exactly the same reason. I had never thought of it as sacred space, but it makes so much sense!
ReplyDelete