thin spaces

When I was in college, I had a mentor who was an Episcopal priest.

She often talked about thin spaces, physical locations where the threshold between tangible reality and divinity is thinner than everywhere else.

We’ve all encountered places like these, whether we realized it or not: old churches, the campfire at the old summer camp, the scenic overlook on a golf course, the parking lot behind the old middle school, an artist’s studio, a room in the old house where things feel just a little bit different.

I’m convinced we make these places with the weight of spiritual, emotional, and artistic practice. It’s why churches, recording studios, and artist lofts often have such a different vibe; people gather and dig their way through to a greater someplace with their prayers and expectations. It’s as if the pursuit of something beyond us grinds down the barriers of the places where we do our seeking.

By showing up at my desk every morning and spilling my guts on a page, I’m trying hard to make my office a thin space, a sacred place meant for encountering truth and beauty.