He lit the blue candles in the windowsill before returning to his study. There, the blue candles sparkled at the foot of the Buddha, the driftwood he’d kept with him since childhood, the photograph of spirit house garden and other sacred objects in his private space. He lit a stick of incense.
He stepped out of his robe and knelt in the darkness. “I create sacred space in time that is not time,” he began, “a place not a place; today is a day that is not a day; all malice and worry, now away, so all within here is right and just; this is a place of compassion, love, and trust. I light these blue candles in remembrance of those who are no longer with us and in thankfulness for continued health and fellowship. All these things I will bring others in the new day – compassion, love, lust, community, commitment, all these start with me and move outward like a ripple across a pond. I create sacred space in time that is not time.”
He closed his eyes into meditation as the grandfather clock in the foyer rang twelve.