“Not having a space you can call your own is dangerous. Everyone needs a sanctuary.”
As I sit beneath worshipful skies, drink the tea, watch birds fly, beneath the many layered roofs of modern apartment living, the layercake of humanity. A spacious moment for morning rest, warm gratitude in my chest. Books and flowers and food and video games—objects to build a nest. Sunlight, lamplight, candlelight, keeping watch from morning to night.
My earliest memories are of sanctuaries. Rooms of worship and gathering. Long pews, tall ceilings, bright music, dim lights, colorful windows. This is the inheritance of the son of a minister, of parents in love with nature. When I am lost I can return to this sanctuary, the memory of the patient care and affectionate attention of childhood, playing Pokémon beneath a church pew.
Shelter, refuge, sanctuary, home.
A sanctuary is not just a gift or a treasure, it’s an essential ingredient for life, for survival, for humanity.
Lost seeds of humanity, scattered, searching for a new home.