On the Sacredness of Objects*

*(thoughts and notes on an essay in progress)

I have always felt that the holiday, in its truest sense, happens between Christmas and New Years Day.  These seem to be the selected days everyone has collectively agreed to offer up to whim; days where any sins committed are immediately absolved, for these be the days for the last hoorahs before the New Year comes to claim your time and mind for goals and progress.  Here, in these in-between days, none of those pressures of the worldly mind can be found.  These are the days for languishing in whatever indulgences the animal body desires.

I’ve spent the past few days absorbed in what can generally be classified as “tidying”.  Over the year, I watch as the systems I’ve set up in the spaces I live and work in either hold up, or fail, and I set these days to re-working them, with hopes that I will be closer to the ideal- to have all spaces and objects harmonized in such a way that they serve their highest order in both function and beauty.  

I believe to many, it can appear as a whole lot of busy work- putting things here, moving them there, then ultimately bringing them back to where they were to begin with… Perhaps it is just a load of busy work.  And yet to me, I can’t help but see these activities as partaking in matters upon which the matters life or death hang.

I am of the unfortunate constitution of having wandering eyes and a wandering mind.  When working at the desk and finding myself stuck on a line, I have noticed my habit to lift my head from the page, and begin to examine my surroundings.  I displace the problem I have on the page, and onto my environment.  Is that lamp in the corner in the best spot it can be?  Does that wall seem a bit too empty now with that mirror next to it?  And so on, and so on.  And yet, I find, even when not at the desk, my mind begins to wander and nit pick apart rooms and the functional and aesthetic services they provide, or fail to provide.  My mind, if not kept in check, will think about these things constantly.  It’s a sickness, if you will.  A sad story of displaced problems.  And yet, I have begun to wonder if perhaps another theory could hold just as true.

***

A couple months back, in the midst of an attempt to reorganize my workspace, I began to examine the nature of space and objects, and their relation to the user and the work they do within and with them.  I began to consider the systems that comprise of any organism, be it an animal, a flower, in their structural makeup.  It is clear that nothing is out of place.  Every cell, every atom serves a function.  Every petal, every eyelash, a function.  All seemingly simple components, when organized in a specific way, can bring about results so wondrous, that when encountered, “existence needs no apology”.  

And thus, why should it not be so with the environment we exist in?  Why not view the composition of a space as the art of assembling individually insignificant parts together in such a way that once assembled, create conditions within which works of the highest order may be wrought?  Think of a woodworker in his den, an artist in his studio.  As much as there is cerebration going into the work they do, the work is not separate from the material limitations in which they exist in.  Why then, is there not more consideration put into the physical conditions that bring their work about.  If perfection of work is what we are after, then it is pivotal to seek perfection in the conditions that bring it about.  The maestro needs his conductor’s baton- it is right on hand.  The painter needs his red tints- they are right where he needs them.   The only stumbling blocks in work, ought to be the problems presented by the work itself- not the superfluous trials of a cluttered workspace.  The meanness of these troubles detracts from the work which is sacred.

And yet, so what if things are out of place?  What does it matter if a space is messy if the work still gets done?  I can imagine the answer would become apparent if one were to entertain the idea of a body with some sort of imbalance.  “Sickness”, is what we’d call it.  The life lived by the being will be substandard, and likewise will be all the actions taken by the being, unless measures are taken to correct or mitigate the imbalance.  Thus, why can not the same be said of the spaces we inhabit?  Spaces, over cluttered, under utilized, unkempt, unloved, they too can become sick; and similarly so, the events that occur in such spaces, too, can be marked with a sickness.  Just like the body, spaces and objects require changes to be made if they are to return to their sovereign state of glory.  

I believe all spaces and objects have an inherent sacredness within them.  They exist to aid us in our eternal vocations, which are likewise sacred, no matter what the nature of the vocation.  A sacred flute, a sacred pen, a sacred mug.  Sacredness is democratic in the magic it provides to objects, for they all work towards the higher aim of helping their user fulfill their eternal vocations.  But the sacredness of each object is not a given.  Objects must be made to be sacred.  We must help the object attain its sacredness through first recognizing its sacredness, then discovering the “home” in which it must live in order for its sacredness to continue to manifest.  A pen forgotten at the bottom of a catch all drawer will never find its sacredness; but returned to a writing desk, then perhaps, yes.  A souvenir kept on a display shelf out of guilt for having spent time and money to procure it is not sacred; but perhaps if it finds itself out of that person’s hands, and closer to those that adore it, then it is closer to regaining its sacredness.

***

I believe I fixate on objects and their placements for much the same reason I fixate over flowers and trees in the garden: I am possessed by them.  They call to me, asking me to carry out the works they wish to see done.  They haunt me, hover over me, linger in my mind through the day.   They made me their mistress, and I’m all too happy to have been made into one. “Mistress of Form.”  I think no title can sound to me more sacred. 

I have felt much guilt and shame in taking the time that I do to consider the aspects that I do in making observations and considerations when it comes to things so seemingly trivial as spaces and the objects they hold.  I have carried a deeply rooted prejudice within me that says work is hierarchically ranked in its importance; that some offices are higher than others.  The discovery and re-discovery of sacredness in objects seemed to instinctively fall on the lower end of the scale, and my draw towards the activity worried me so, that I only allowed myself to take part in it during the days of holidays, the days I have deemed stand outside of judgement.  I carry around this fear that if I dive into what I yearn to do headfirst, I will have lost that life of mine which was meant to do work that is considered “greater”.  

I wish that in the midst of rediscovering the sacredness of objects, I can learn to find the sacredness of this activity in my life, and see that it directly influences all the other work which I hold to be sacred in my life.  I wish that I may learn to see these desires not as distractions or sicknesses, but as work just as important as those I deem to be “higher”.  Mistress of Form.  A wondrous title for all its implications.  Can’t I see that form is not exclusive to specific mediums?  Beauty is not exclusive.  I wish to stop seeing work as being on a scale of higher or lower.  I wish to learn to see that all work, so long as it is carried out in the name of the good, as sacred.   

Mo and the room on New Years’ Eve