I was asked the other day if sacred space was important to me; I don’t know what prompted the question, maybe the large picture of our local, medieval parish church which hangs on my wall. Anyway it got me to thinking about what that means. More often than not for me I experience the sacred out of doors, in the garden or forest, or on a wind swept cliff top. But there are other moments too. Tonight, with both teenagers out at the same time for the first time in months, I find myself alone in the house. Eventually I faced up to the pile of ironing that’s been growing apace. Standing in the kitchen listening to some jazz, alone with my thoughts, suddenly the mundane moment became my sacred space, an uninterrupted pause, a patterned rhythm of activity. I was calmed and soothed, rocked by the action of my arms as they smoothed the fabric and my hips as I danced from side to side. This time alone is so rare and precious. It is the powerhouse which fuels me, the space to be alone with my thoughts, to allow them to drift and blend, meld and meander. It is the space that Jean Shinoda Bolen, M.D.speaks of in her talk “Crones Don’t Whine” (http://jungchicago.org/blog/), the rare time when a woman can be alone and think. It is a precious gap in the every day, longed for and, when found, treasured and protected. It is in these moments that I am restored to myself.