Shedding

     I have a shed. Some people might call it a studio. But it's for my spirit. A spirit shed.

It sits in my back yard, on the spot where there used to be a chicken coop. The laundry line connects to it. 
 In the winter, I shovel the path out to my shed. Sometimes it feels like walking down a tunnel when the snow is up to my knees. Right now, it's kind of muddy, especially since the kids and dogs were ripping around out there yesterday. This morning when I walked out, this is what I saw:

     Inside, I have space to meditate on the floor, a desk for writing,

and a book case filled with books 

     and gifts of the earth: a bird's nest, shells, bones, rocks, feathers, fossils, arrowheads, pinecones. Some I found, some were given to me.

     Sometimes a few friends come out to meditate with me. We call it “shedding”. It took me awhile to be able to invite people out. It felt so private, and I was nervous about exposing myself and what I do to the people who know me as an active, volunteer-in-the-schools mom. But the more I practice meditating and writing and opening myself to spirit, the more comfortable I am just being who I am. And to my surprise, I find that people respond almost with a sense of need. Why did I not expect that others would be as timid or fearful of uncovering their spiritual sides as I was? It is a relief to walk in the schedule-driven world as a compassionate being, and to find company.

     I don't think you need a shed. I have a friend who has a box under the guest room bed in which she keeps her altar materials. It's portable. I have a friend who sits on a certain rock at the end of a field, summer or winter, to meditate. Pretty much all you need is a few minutes to yourself and to be able to turn off the phone. Let go of the external demands, and rest in the quiet and peace.