In the Company of Space

7/10/25:

Things become invisible in familiar spaces

This morning, I finally cleaned out the corner of my patio. It had been home to a few empty pots—neatly stacked but unused. When I decided to clear the area, get rid of what I wasn’t using, and give it a good sweep, something subtle but powerful shifted. From my desk, where I can see that corner through the window, I noticed an unexpected feeling of relief. One less place tugging at my attention. I hadn’t realized how much mental space that small pile was occupying. How long had it even been there?

The Other Side of the Coin

At the same time, I’m noticing that contentment doesn’t depend on my environment. I’m finding that I can feel at peace in all kinds of spaces: a friend’s cluttered, cat-hair-filled kitchen, a pristine and modern suburban home, or my own modest living room. Over the years, I’ve lived in many different settings—a 2,800-square-foot house, a studio apartment. Oddly enough, some of my most unhappy moments took place in a beautiful 1,200-square-foot condo with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean.

They say you take yourself wherever you go, and that has certainly been my experience.

Feel the Space.

Take a moment.

Feel into the environment around you.

What does it evoke?

What uplifts you?

What depletes you?

Space as Teacher

Space is what seems to be between us,

and yet it is what we share.

We give space to problems so they can soften.

We give space to misunderstandings, and they begin to heal.

One of the most profound acts of self-love is to give ourselves space—

to be, to feel, to process, to breathe, to enjoy.

To simply be.

As we empty ourselves of beliefs, judgments, concepts, and agendas,

we make room for something deeper.

Space becomes a vessel for the greater intelligence to anchor within us.

We hold space for those who are hurting.

We offer space, and in doing so, we offer love.

It seems that love itself is made of space.

It exists.

It expands when we notice it.

SPACE — without a final frontier —

endlessly pointing us back toward the mystery.