My last home in the United States stood at the edge of the woods in Worcester, Massachusetts. From the third floor balcony, the house seemed almost suspended among the trees. In the mornings I would sit there to meditate, often joined by my two cats. Mourning doves, owls, sparrows, and woodpeckers intermingled with the sounds of people leaving for work and the nearby rock crushing factory. I remember the light there, especially in autumn, when the upper branches caught the sun while the forest beneath them remained in shadow. I also remember someone I loved spinning barefoot among the trees. It is one of those memories in which a place and a person have become inseparable.Sanctuary, for me, does not mean a place untouched by difficulty. It means a place in which, for a time, I could become quiet enough to feel protected by the world around me. This was such a place. It gave me the strength to imagine another life, and eventually the courage to change mine and begin again.Recorded by Pa
