Healing Spaces
By Pete Bernard
Since the very beginning of the dawn of what became humanity, we have sought shelter from the elements that formed us. A cave, while cold and uninviting, sheltered us from the elements and predators alike. It was easy to defend and heat, and offered communal living to divide the work load.
Taking shelter in a tree, under a tree, or seeking the high ground which offered a better line of sight and was more defensible were the very beginnings of our flirtation with structure, utilizing what already existed. We only needed to find something that already worked, no matter what limitations it had.
In time, and through our evolution, we began to use existing structures less. We began our dance with imagination, forming stone structures, wooden structures, and tree houses, which enabled us to expand not only geographically to places that were otherwise not habitable, but to begin to honour our relationship with Spirit—Forces greater than ourselves.
As we evolved, we dug into the Earth to try and find The Mother—to return to the Womb that birthed us, to remind ourselves where we came from, and to feel grounded, earthed, and safe. We also built towards the Heavens, the Stars; literal and metaphorical staircases that would allow us to walk back, to ascend back to something that was bigger than ourselves.
And there it is: The Divide. The Separation of genders, male and female, the masculine and the feminine, moving in two different directions—one trying to reach the stars, the other trying to honour what already was there. Two philosophies, two paths, our still-evolving neocortex creating the illusion that they’re one and the same.. A never-ending dance of form and formlessness taking their respective turns moving in and out of each other, reminding us that nothing is permanent.
Everything we build eventually falls and gives way to nature or man-made disaster. It is replaced by the new people who come after us, waiting to give new rise and expression to this polarity. But, there are some who seek to create a bridge, a union of these two as one. They are called architects, designers, and they walk between the two worlds of the masculine and feminine, the past and the present, the present and the future, form and formlessness. They are the Shamans that walk amongst us, but they don't all know that. From the time of the Ancient Priests and Priestesses who influenced leaders in their designs and structures telling them which direction to build towards, the elements to use and be represented in the designs, the directions the structures should face, and what to adorn them with, these Priests and Priestesses evolved with time and technology. How could they not be descended from the Ancients who guided our Spiritual Evolution?
They all began as ones who spoke to Spirit, and they were the interpreters of the Divine. As their relationship with Spirit evolved, so did their understanding and their language. That language became mathematics, geometry, and the sciences that taught us the how, but never really gave us the why. They hinted at something more. Something much more, bigger, behind them.
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In the beginning, our structures were meek, and representative of a people who could inherit the earth.
Earthen structures where we learned to move the earth, to mould it into shapes, to create adobe dwellings. The earth made us feel grounded, connected. The very same earth that gave birth to fruits, vegetables, herbs, and the vessels that purified and held our ground water. Who wouldn’t want that?
Wooden structures reminded us that we were capable of growing from where we began. If it were not for a Creator Consciousness, what would have become of the seed still asleep somewhere in the soil, never realizing what it could be? This is our journey: to awaken and become more than what we started as; to realize our full potential. The grains of each piece of wood tell a story of its history, and the many wooden pieces of a design tell many stories of what we call The One.
Structures that honoured and invited the Air because of their height, which allowed air to pass through them, to even enter into them to bring new life, to hear the story of life, their Ancestors whispering in the wind, and to suggest to us that they too could fly, and to look down from the high places back to the earth and be reminded of how far they’d grown. The air brought inspiration and inspiration gave birth to imagination, and all that we were, are, or will be is the result of something imagined.
Metal structures came later in time and were valued for the strength they provided, their ability to carry heavy loads. They were an extension of our logical, rational minds. Their medicine was to provide structure both literally and metaphorically, and to organize our thoughts and ideas into form.
Water incorporated into structures reminded us of both stillness and flow. They offered reflection, direction, and the reminder that, as an element, water could take many forms, states, while remaining what it was at its core. Water perhaps has the most important lesson for us: that we can become many things, express ourselves in many ways, but at our core we must remain who and what we are. Water is the memory of all life, and we use it to remember. Water leads us with this guiding principle. We can be all things to all people, we can shape shift to fit in almost anywhere, but at the end of the day, we can only be who we are. Water reminds us to be better, not to do more.
Fire is an element that is incorporated into design, but cannot be built with. Those earliest moments of our Ancestors sitting around a fire, sharing a meal and building community—what has changed since that point? We still gather around fires not just to be warm and to ward off predators, but to commune. Is it ingrained into us that fire is community? Why now, with so many heating options that are more efficient, do we still choose fire as an option? Maybe we need to not only be warm, but to feel warm in our hearts. Maybe we are still looking at the element that lit the darkness and that we learned to create and harness. It’s a reminder that for every darkness, every unknown we must enter into, we have fire—our fire.
Some of these elements are tangible in design, others are not. It is easy to see earthen elements represented in soil, rock, and concrete, easy to see wood and metal as well.
Other elements that were less tangible in design were used as accents because we couldn’t truly harness them, form them, or bend them to our will, and this is our dance with the universe. The tangible and intangible.
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All spaces meet us where we are, whether or not we are ready for them. They are meant to inspire us, to be larger than life whether it be in scale, or in the ideas they attempt to get across and make real. We all begin at the ground level, whether or not we go up or down after that. This reminds us that we all have a level playing field, and that it is resourcefulness that will determine how far we can go, not starting position or privilege.
The entrance to each structure is the second greeting, the formal welcoming after seeing the structure from the outside. It is here where our minds know they are in the inner sanctum of a consciousness that is trying to connect with them, to make them remember something, feel something, be something.
Spaces that begin narrow honour our own journey in life, reminding us of when we were more limited, had less options, maybe even felt more constricted in our own life. But if they gradually open up as we walk them we are reminded that we grew, or can grow. A space, any space naturally occurring or designed, is rendered pointless in the absence of motion through it. It is like looking at someone across a crowded room who catches your eye, but you never talk with them, never get to know them. It is only through movement and motion that anything comes alive and becomes the fluidity, the heart and soul of a space, pulling you like a current on a river.
Because it meets us where we are, all spaces have different effects on different people. Cozy can be claustrophobic, open can be overwhelming, tall can be intimidating, and anything less than straight lines can be confusing and hard to follow. Anything too grand can challenge our self-worth and worthiness. We are such fragile creatures, and our frailty is mirrored back to us in design, as is our greatness.
Our spaces affect our bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits, masquerading as beliefs we have. We can understand spaces like dream interpretation: What was your overall impression? How did it make you feel? What did each part mean to you? What parts did you like and why? What parts did you not like and why?
Architecture and design is a canvas for us to project ourselves as a hot and complicated mess onto, but it also allows us to project ourselves as artists and lovers too. We learn about ourselves through our projections masquerading as opinions, but they eventually cause us to ask questions, deeper questions, where we are forced to face ourselves and get to know ourselves. In all still waters, we must reflect whether or not we want to.
And that is the nature of healing spaces: they challenge us. They must challenge us at the core of our being. They have to push us beyond our wounds, traumas, and limitations to make us more. You see, as humans we always mimic nature. We adapt to our environment, and by doing so, it shapes us. It tells us who we are, what we are, and what we can be. The climate does this, as do the animals that live there.
Our job is to rise up and meet the challenge, and let the challenge itself forever change us, evolve us, so that we can be more. The challenge is to keep us in a growth state, and a certain level of stress is required to do that. Not all the time, not as a way of life, but in the places we plateau on. If we weren’t challenged and didn’t rise to meet it, we might still be in caves.
The very nature of design is linked with evolution, as one influences the other. It was only when we adapted environments through our technology of insulation, heating, and cooling that we began to be the ones doing the moulding.
Some spaces attempt to honour the past, the present, or the future. But the greatest spaces are timeless, and they create a continuity through their flow of consciousness.
Architects are storytellers, using design and structure to draw our attention to lines, shapes, directions, causing us to feel something, to think, to imagine, to believe.
But do they know they are building both consciously and non-consciously at the same time? As humans it is our nature to manifest both levels of consciousness simultaneously, meaning that even the architects don’t completely know what they have designed. As they grow so too will their understanding of their own creation. The master will become the student as their own design begins to teach them. All parents want their children to exceed them, and so will our own creations.
The very nature of spaces that heal, is that they change you. There is no healing without change, and no change without healing in the most conscious context. As we walk into a space, it should meet and honour us where we are, but it also needs to move us beyond our narrow view of the world, our own past, and the limitations we have learned about ourselves. We will mirror the spaces we spend most of our time in. Adapt, regress, or grow. Those are our options.
We build our hearts, even the hurt ones, the closed ones, the ones that don’t want to feel. We build our love too. All of our emotions are represented in our inner spaces, and our inner spaces built, and will build, our world.
You are a healing space. Build wisely, and let the love inside of you out, and bring it into this world giving it form while honouring its formlessness.
Bio
Pete Bernard is an Algonquin Healer preparing to release his first book The End of Suffering - The Definitive Guide to Heal Your Life. @AuthorPeteBernard and www.The8thFire.com
