It used to be that I hated housework. I did it, well enough, but I never enjoyed it. Then something shifted in December. Keeping things tidy became a holy task.
A couple of years or so ago, I determined that my home would be a holy place, a sanctuary. But it was more of an idea than a practice, something that I must have thought would occur through the power of intention. If my attention lapsed, so did the intention. Now that is different.
I do my household tasks as a meditation, calmly, prayerfully. Now, I have to say, these prayers aren’t word prayers. Instead, the prayerfulness is more a sense of Presence and Companionship. The Holy surrounds me. The Holy fills me with each breath.
Holy Sanctuary is not just inside my home. This morning my tasks included taking out recyclables and compost. I discovered that yesterday’s ice storm made for easy passage to the compost pile. (While I was out, the plow truck scraped 2 inch thick chunks of ice off our road.) The ice held my weight well enough that I took a walk to my Holy Hill, footprints showing in the skiff of snow on the surface.
On my Holy Hill, my prayers had words. May the powers of the Universe come into this Earth under my feet, into the water deep below, and out to the world. May the powers of the Universe cleanse and renew this planet. May the Spirit of Earth and Sky, and the four directions, protect me and my land.