Make Sacred Spaces Safe Again

At the beginning of this year, I publicly cried my first [and so far only] time visiting the Rothko Chapel. Now, if you know me, you know that I cry all the time. In front of people. With no qualms. But this cry was different.

I had no expectations for the Rothko Chapel. I intentionally did very little research prior to visiting, which is opposite of how I usually manage to give myself an immersive experience and extend respect to creatives. I thought this was me wanting to minimize touristy vibes from overpowering a raw experience - an understatement - as I did not know that my own beautiful release in honoring the life [and death] of sacred places is what was waiting for me.

I sat with my eyes closed the entire time on the last bench closest to the exit, swaying in powerful silence, meditating on the beauty of such stillness. Then suddenly, tears formed in my eyes as I relived the moment in my personal history when I lived a few blocks away from Mother Emanuel at a time when nine members of this historically Black church were killed during prayer by a white supremacist. Mentally - I acknowledged these thoughts as the normal ebb and flow of meditation; however, physically, my body wanted to take a full stop to process. I tried my best to sway out the tears and tension, but as I wavered between sadness and anger, I finally settled on acceptance and grief. Grief of not having safe meditative prayerful spaces for people of color, whether in public or the confines of our own homes. And yet, here I sat. "safe" Remembering traumaful memories because trauma is so deeply connected to my sense of safety. Remembering that from the moment I walked in, of all seats to choose from, my body chose the one closest to the exit. To say I want to experience peace like the others -- welp.

Next year will be ten years.