Sacred Space

* I wrote this blog a few months ago. While it may be referencing colder weather, it's still applicable. :)

I was returning from a trip down to the Manchester Airport today, after dropping off my husband and a friend for an adventure to New Orleans. As I travelled North on Interstate 93 in NH, I watched as the surrounding land as it slowly changed from the flatter area of Southern New Hampshire, to the wild, rocky land of the White Mountains. The Interstate brought me closer and closer to the pass through these northern Appalachians until a turn revealed Franconia Notch. Its beauty hit me. Snow covered. Majestic. This is the beauty I see every day of my life, from my hill in my bordering state of Vermont. A two minute walk into the woods reveals the grandeur of Mount Lafayette, and the ski slopes of Cannon Mountain, the two giants on opposing sides of the Interstate. Because I’ve grown up with these mountains, it can be easy to forget their power and just see them as a backdrop to life. This is an injustice of my human condition. These aren’t just a background view. They are sacred space.

My first real hike was up Little Haystack, a mountain two over from Lafayette, the tallest mountain in Franconia Notch. It was with a Christian camp my parents were connected to on a beautiful lake in mid New Hampshire. They decided to try taking campers on a hike up Little Haystack, over the ridge to Lafayette, and loop back down to the waiting bus. The Notch, though, had other plans.

Franconia Notch is notorious for keeping bad weather in her grasp. The surrounding area may have perfect hiking weather, but the Notch could be nasty all the same. So it was on this hike. Half way up, the counselors started to realize that the weather may not be as… conducive to hiking as they thought. The first three fourths was fine. Once we breached tree line, though, all you could see was the wind moving through the low hanging cloud we were in. We reached the top of Little Haystack, but the wind was too intense to safely lead a group of kids across the sometimes narrow ridge that led to Lincoln, then Lafayette.

While some of the boys may have found this weather miserable, I was lost in the magic of it. I couldn’t see what I would learn to be the amazing view surrounding us. All I saw was the low growing, naturally formed bonsais, the rock cairns, the white, oxygenated water mist clinging to every miniscule, exposed hair, and the swirling mist. While the visual itself was amazing, it was what I FELT that hooked me. I was a mile above sea level, in a cloud, that much closer to space. There was a Sacredness about it. It was the beauty and Sacredness that brought me back to that hike, as well as inspired my hiking career. It also propelled me on my way to my obsession with Sacred Space in general.

Ah, to define Sacred Space. A place set aside for Divine experience? It’s more than that. I always feel it on certain mountains, by the sea, sometimes in special places in the woods, and in churches. The church bit is easy to explain. With all that prayer and singing going on, that creates an energetic connection to the Divine right there. Then, fill that space with spiritually charged symbols (hmmm…. Starting to sound like magical work…), and set it aside for sacred use in general. It becomes a liminal space, a transitional space. A place where everyday, secular life meets the spiritual world. These are the places where magic happens.

Mountains are liminal spaces, too. There is the pilgrimage (a.k.a. the hike) to the sacred space. Leaving tree line is the transitory point. You are leaving the world you know, filled with trees, undergrowth, and cover, and entering this place open to the sky and the wind, populated by only the toughest life. You can see the world you left behind beneath you, a strange memory of where you came from. You are that much closer to the cosmos, and infinity.

One of the most intense memories that I have of interacting with mountainous powers was a hike up Mount Willard. It’s not a big mountain. In fact, that’s why I chose it that day. It was early afternoon, and I wanted something quick, but with a rewarding view. Mount Willard isn’t above tree line, but it has an amazing outlook over Crawford Notch from a rocky outcrop at the top of the mountain. It was a windy day, and there was minimal hiker traffic. I sat down on the ledge, and listened to the wind. I began to feel wind spirits dancing over the open space between the mountains, dancing and singing. That day, I was given a song. After sitting, listening, and thanking, I began my descent, singing the song so I wouldn’t forget. I imagine the hikers I passed thought I was a little cracked in the head. As I descended, though, passing through the liminal space that led back to the parking lot, I lost the song.

The Sea is also a liminal space. Where the mountains can connect you to more solar currents, the sea is all deep planetary currents. The life blood of the Earth. The womb that life crawled from. This is where the primal waters of the Earth interact with the land. Here, the power of the moon plays with the tides. It is a powerful thing, and in this power lies its beauty and danger. I feel there is so much to talk about when it comes to my relationship with the sea that I will leave it at that for now. The Sea deserves a post of her own.

In my Shaman work, one of my practices is creating a sacred bundle. It’s my personal power, like a portable Sacred Space. In it are meaningful power objects. When passing Mount Lafayette, I realized that I don’t have any mountain representation in my Mesa, my sacred bundle. I think that, come warmer weather, a hike is in order. I have to go talk to the mountain. I think it has something for me...

Until next week

-The Green Mountain Mage