Sacred Garden
Sacred Garden: Where I went on my first Journey
© 3..25.20
recorded writing 7/12/20
Bibliography
Personal photo of Surfside Beach, Nantucket, cir. 2002. I cropped my BFF and myself out.
Outdoorsy Magazine picture of a windswept tree in a grassy place.
Connecticut College Magazine photo of a stone bench
Scrap mustard gold paper with a handwritten note
Facilitators of the Journey: Anne Falkowski and Damon Honeycutt
This Contemplative Collate has roots in one of the first Journeys I had ever done. It took place during my Yoga Teacher Training certification at Samadhi Yoga Studio in Manchester, Connecticut, USA.
This Contemplative Collage represents where I encountered the embodiment of My Wisest Self Within. I could also call this collage “The Seat of My Soul” or “The Garden of My Sacred Self.”
I was on my way to becoming a Yoga Teacher. Part of our studies required us to be just as much students of Yoga practice as we were becoming teachers. The final resting pose - Savasana - morphed into a resting inquiry - a journey to meet our Wisest Selves.
Our facilitators had prompted the class that the setting in which we would meet our Higher Consciousness Embodied would be a garden.
As I lay on my yoga mat, I let myself surrender into the complete and utter trust of this sacred space held by my teachers. Ultimate Rest. Letting go. Free to Vision - Vision as a verb - actively visioning and imagining in my mind’s eye.
Here, I will invite you into my imaginative space and I will flesh out more of my setting with you. I was acting in my own movie.
I felt the packed sand underneath my feet. Beach grasses hedge each side of me along this familiar path (even though it was the first time I was consciously headed there…)
My physical body seems transported into this daydream. Salt felt on my skin and in my nostrils as I breathe in the ocean air. It seems I am aware of atom and particle. Cosmos and beyond. I feel expansive, omnisciently sensitive - with a rapid interpretation of body-felt knowledge of exactly where I am.
Guided to imagine walking to a gateway - whitewashed, weathered seashore erosion fencing springs up just ahead. I walk to it, hearing the sand crunch and grind under my feet.
I open the gate, step over the threshold. I step through knee high grass as my feet walk me to a stone bench big enough for two. The bench sits near and dear enough to a persistently wind-bent pitch pine. I can hear the wind shushing as it passes through the needles.
I sit on the cool stone.
I hardly waited an uptick in breath - and She appeared to me.
My Wisest Self.
Beautiful Wisdom imparted - without words happened.
The Golden Hour lit the session.
I now know what I know.