Sacred Space: Finding Meaning in Daily Life

Milky Way over the desertWhat’s sacred for you? Where is it found? For many of us, the idea of sacred space brings up images of cathedrals or mosques, Stonehenge, Angkor Wat, or the pyramids. These can be places separated from us by great distances and steeped in centuries of tradition, so getting to them is a journey. “Next year in Jerusalem,” we tell one another. Or we dream of making the Hajj to Mecca, or going on pilgrimage to Santiago or Lourdes. Such spaces can also be the houses of worship we go to once a week, for which we dress in special clothes, covering or uncovering our heads, possibly leaving our shoes at the door.

For others of us, the sacred is hard to find, or is something we feel we once had access to but no longer do. We get caught up—sometimes for years at a time—in the business of daily life. Technology provides us with increasingly sophisticated means to keep ourselves distracted. Or the practices that once offered access to the sacred may no longer do so.

In the following discussion, names have been changed and personal material has been screened out.

Sacred space can mean what we set the space aside for, what we do while within it. Jim creates a memorial altar in his home. On top of a bookcase, he puts photos of people he loves who have died—his grandmother, his partner, his best friend. He keeps a candle burning there, and on their birthdays he sets out flowers or a cup of coffee.

Sacred can refer to what we feel when we enter the space. Benjamin, disillusioned with his church, goes into nature in order to feel he’s contained in something larger than he is, that will accept him no matter what. Janice writes her dreams down in a journal. When she sits down in front of her journal and opens it, she experiences feelings of calm and increased focus. Cathy goes on vacation to Istanbul and enters the Blue Mosque. Although a practicing Lutheran, she finds that looking up into the ornately tiled, domed ceilings produces a sense of weightlessness and freedom from worry.

Bob belongs to a writers’ group. Every two weeks, the group gets together at a different member’s home. They read and critique each other’s work. Although “sacred” isn’t the way he describes this (and, in fact, is a term he objects to), Bob says writing is the most important thing in the world to him—“what he was born to do.”

Kyle meditates before coming to therapy. He sees his therapist’s office as the place where he meets what is most true in his life, sometimes for the first time.

For Alice, it’s her mother’s house. For Karen, it’s wherever her 10-year-old daughter is. Both women struggle with recovery, but don’t use in the spaces where they locate the sacred.

If we give the sacred its own space, do we increase the chances we will recognize it when it greets us?

The sacred is what grounds us in meaning. It can include us, as when we recognize that we are part of or one with the universe. And it can gently put us in our place, as when we slowly realize our ego is not the most important content of that universe. It can be deeply personal, as in meeting rooms where we establish or affirm our relationship to a higher power. And it can be an experience of merger, as when we look up and out into the stars at night. Sharon Olds, in her poem Wilderness, describes sleeping in the desert and looking up at the stars. She feels suddenly “… as if/not only the earth while I am here, but space/and death and existence without me, are my home.”

Sometimes we know it for the first time by responses that surprise us. Fran, hiking, comes into a grove of California oaks in the hills over the ocean. She says, “I suddenly heard the silence for the first time. It seemed to go on forever.” For Steve, the experience came as he was driving through Death Valley. “I was going to meet some friends,” he says. “But I drove more and more slowly, until I just had to pull over and stop. I’d never seen anything like it—white sand dunes, colored cliffs that looked like sculptures, and no one else around anywhere. I felt connected to the earth for the first time since I was a kid.”

Our own bodies can provide such a space. Tom describes an experience late one Christmas Eve that the manger where the Christ child was about to be born was his own body. This original intensity faded, but he was left with a lingering and resonant awareness of what he put into his body in terms of food and recreational substances, and of how he took care of his health.

Sacred space can mean leaving room in our lives for something to be sacred—if not now, then someday. Perhaps as simply as by acknowledging we don’t know all the answers. Or that our answers might not be the ultimate answer, might merely be rest stops along the way.

Sacred space can as well act as a holding place in times of uncertainty or transition. It can be a system of meaning, rather than a literal place.

According to Erik Erikson, in the first stages of life we’re engaged in developmental tasks related to basic psychological functions, such as establishing trust and self-efficacy, and in developing a stable sense of identity. Another way of saying this is that we’re involved in consolidating the ego, the sense of “me” present in experience that makes it “my experience.” This time of life is a little like the Ptolemaic view of the universe, where everything—sun, moon, and stars—seemed to revolve around the earth. That’s us at the center of everything, and whatever happens is about us.

Often around the midpoint of life, we start picking up hints that we’re not going to increase and live forever. In Once Upon a Midlife, Allan Chinen describes how shocking this realization can be, accompanied by anxiety and grief. Especially at such a point, a sense of the sacred can act to ground us. As the fact of “me” begins to lose its apparent guarantee of continuance as well as its centrality (because how central to the universe can I be if I’m not going to be around?), the universe is less and less about me. But perhaps I become more and more about something else, something larger than me.

Carl Jung notes that, in this way, the ego becomes relativized and the process of individualization—becoming wholly who we were meant to be—is accomplished. We begin to live in a system of meaning where the earth revolves around the sun, the sun rotates through the galaxy, and the galaxy itself follows its own great attractor. Our experience then seems to participate in larger movements, whether those are our family or a cause in which we believe or humanity in general, a spiritual pathway or the life of the universe.

Ray tells me that if you go to the mosque to pray 40 mornings in a row, you will be able to meet Khid’r, a mystic figure in Islam, anywhere—in the market, on the street. Barbara tells me she sets a place at the Seder table every year for Elijah, who will someday return from his sojourn in heaven, so why not here, why not now? Beth tells me that when you practice Zen meditation, anything—even a drop of water falling into a bucket—can suddenly herald a glimpse into the nature of reality.

Here, we have the idea of ordinary daily space—and that includes the freeway where we’re caught in traffic, or the area where we keep our trash cans—suddenly converting to sacred.

A related idea is that all space is sacred already. Connie tells me a quotation from the Gospel of Thomas, where the figure of Jesus tells his disciples, “The kingdom of the father is spread out on the earth, and nobody recognizes it.”

If I’m already in a sacred space, what happens to my anxiety that is sometimes so intense? My craving for alcohol? The anger I feel at my partner when we disagree over small matters?

Sacred space can mean leaving room in our lives for something to be sacred—if not now, then someday. Perhaps as simply as by acknowledging we don’t know all the answers. Or that our answers might not be the ultimate answer, might merely be rest stops along the way. The possibility that even though something doesn’t seem to make sense to me, it still might make sense. That I am included in a great web of meaning, at home, wherever I am, with no chance of getting lost.


  1. Chinen, A. (1992). Once Upon a Midlife: Classic Stories and Mythic Tales to Illuminate the Middle Years. New York: Putnam Publishing Group.
  2. Erikson, E. (1980). Identity and the Life Cycle. New York: Norton.
  3. Jung, C. (1969). The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, Second Edition. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
  4. Olds, S. (2002). The Unswept Room. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
  5. Robinson, J., Editor. (1978). The Nag Hammadi Library. New York: Harper and Row.

© Copyright 2016 All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Peter Cashorali, LMFT, Topic Expert Contributor

The preceding article was solely written by the author named above. Any views and opinions expressed are not necessarily shared by Questions or concerns about the preceding article can be directed to the author or posted as a comment below.

  • Leave a Comment
  • cherri

    March 28th, 2016 at 8:26 AM

    so would you say this is your place where you feel the most centered and connected to the good in your life?

  • Peter Cashorali, LMFT

    March 28th, 2016 at 11:20 AM

    As I read it, Cherri, your take seems right on it.

  • Gerald

    March 28th, 2016 at 3:10 PM

    Even if this is just time to go within yourself and clear the mind, that can be a sacred event for you. Doesn’t have to be a physical address, just somewhere and and a time where you can think clearly and feel better.

  • pj

    March 28th, 2016 at 4:55 PM

    The example of the Blue Mosque is the perfect example. It is a beautiful place ad would not have that much meaning religiously for anyone other than Muslims and yet we visit there and you find a peace that you may have never experienced elsewhere
    There are some spaces and places that will just offer that to you, and in some ways they then become sacred and special to you on a very personal level. It may not be something that you could ever explain to another person, but that’s ok. It has meaning for you and that is your own truth that can’t be taken away.

  • Holly

    March 29th, 2016 at 10:49 AM

    well finding that happiness in every day life is o much better than living the alternative

  • melanie

    March 30th, 2016 at 4:06 PM

    Every day I try to look back and my day and reflect on what I have learned in that 24 hour time span.
    Sometimes it might just be that there is a pair of socks that I am wearing that really needs to just be thrown away, and then there are other days when it could be something that is a lot more profound that that. But I see my day

  • Anonymous

    December 20th, 2018 at 5:59 PM

    I have never experienced ‘sacred’. We are atoms, no different from a rock or a bit of worms. We live, we die, maybe we reproduce, that’s it. ‘Sacred’ is a human invention, like miasma or religion. The stars exist, and they die, and that’s it. Our atoms existed as something before, and will again as something else. We are not special, our atoms are not special. There is nothing special about our planet or anything here. What is a ritual? Waving arms around while nothing happens? Saying words? Going places? Because something is “special’?

  • Peter Cashorali, LMFT

    December 22nd, 2018 at 7:50 AM

    Hello. You write, “We are all atoms, no different from a rock or bit of worms.” I think so too, as far as the atoms, quarks, electrons, quanta of energy and perhaps dark matter go. The material, yes? But as for structure, there seem to be significant differences. Our species is characterized by the most extended consciousness of anything we can so far observe. Same thing for the structure of the ego—this appears to be unique to our species.
    “Sacred is a human invention.” Again, yes, I subscribe to that. And, let’s remember that the original definition of “invent” is “find” and not “build.” Yes, meaning seems to come into the universe from the human psyche, from the unconscious functions and into awareness. It doesn’t seem to already be here, waiting for us, except in a cultural sense.
    “We are not special, our atoms are not special.” As far as atoms, yes, I agree. The matter that is currently part of this body was, earlier, parts of other bodies and will later be redistributed.
    “There is nothing special about this planet.” This one I disagree with. I can’t name any other planets that have liquid water and a stable atmosphere such that life occurs there.
    Ritual as “Waving arms around while nothing happens.” Well, that’s a funny one. Yes, sometimes that’s the case. But perhaps not always? For instance, your sitting down at your keyboard and waving your arms in order to write your response to this article has definitely caused things to happen. One such thing might be that you experienced satisfaction in writing it? And another is my responding to you now.
    And yet any response from me might be beside the point. If you find yourself living in a universe best described in terms of its physical structure, then I hope you find its complexities and unanswerable mysteries to be a source of engagement and reward. If on the other hand you are bugged that you don’t have any experiences that you could describe as sacred, then I wish you good fortune in the search for that. One way to search is to notice what your values are and live increasingly in alignment with them, and to wonder where they take their origin in your life.
    Thank you for your response.

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