I sometimes find myself in-between patterns of doing, having, thinking, and being. These are like the twilight times of the day, full of no thing, empty, yet containing all potential. At these times I reach for an Oracle rune or card.

I work with the Runes daily, but sometimes other Oracle decks of cards feel more in alignment with my question. I am in my twilight years, and consequently, I want to create something–a work, a space, or community–to address the uncertainty of these times we live in. My questions often have to do with the mood of the moment.

It so happened that two days ago, I decided to draw my Oracle cards for the week. Three decks called to me: Denise Linn’s Sacred Forest Oracle, Coletter Baron-Reid’s Wisdom of the Hidden Realms, and Shaman Durek’s Earth Alchemy cards.

The first card, Mystic Meadow, from the Sacred Forest Oracle was all about finding Sanctuary. Since my husband passed over a year ago, home has become my sanctuary–it has been a place to mourn and grieve, and pass from Grief into Grace. Home IS my sanctuary, my peace of mind from the chaotic energies of the people I meet out in public, and my point of contact with the wilderness.

The second card, The Desert Prince, from the Wisdom of the Hidden Realms deck, pointed out the gifts and strength of survival that are present to us in the desert places. My in-between time feels like a desert place. The “known”–my life with Alan–is over, and picking up the pieces of living, I am surviving on my own. I am stronger than I knew.

The third card, Fire: Tribal Fire: Star, from Shaman Durek’s Earth Alchemy, was also spot on. Stories are things that we tell ourselves and consequently shape our lives. My life won’t have the ending I wish if I continually feed myself on old stories of loss and abandonment. But here is what I wish for and what I am working on: Stories for our time that serve to reconnect us to Nature and a reverence for our own life and life on the planet.

The values that seem to nourish society do not support a healthy biosphere on our planet for the continued welfare of not only humans, but all other forms of life as well. I am writing to share my own process–not for aggrandizement–but because I feel deeply human and caring at a time when I can also feel powerless to affect the political climate, the choices of the wealthy to rape the planet of her resources for their own gain, and a lack of wholesome community. If there are aspects of my own story that resonate with others, perhaps a community will grow from that.

So I return at the moment to building up the feeling of Sanctuary in my home. I have a little bit of land, enough to garden, enough to meditate with the natural elements, and enough to share, when the time is right, with like-minded, supportive community. Sanctuary to me is a place where I can feel safe, touch the numinous, and invite in the Sacred.

Sanctuary and thus the story of sanctuary is a process. It becomes a process of living, day by day, present and open to potential. It is both a building up and a tearing down. The old has outlived its usefulness and may be recycled for the new to come in.

I have been able to re-home most of it–plants, clothing, tools. The wilderness, which got a bit ahead of me, is getting pruned back to the garden area it held before. The forest line is getting slightly pushed back and pathways opened up beneath the wooded canopy in strategic areas for seated appreciation of the bountiful vistas it offers.

Sanctuary… And fun.