The holiness of all architecture

showing up through a flood, spring ants, and our neighbors' family recipes

I grew up in Catholic schooling, so it’s taken me a very long time to be comfortable again or have any semblance of a relationship with the words “god” and “holy.” What an unbelievable plot twist that I’ve come so far as to name my publication Holy Architecture, to feel such warmth around the word “holy” that I willingly and joyfully associate my creative pursuits with it. That word is so special to me now, and to reclaim it for myself after so many years of despising it feels really good and makes so many other things possible. What else can we transform our relationships to?

I am doing a lot of self work right now around things that I “hate” or have held in negative light for so long, in particular my body. If you’ve been reading my newsletters so far I’ve not been shy about proclaiming this endeavor. Parts of me feel really embarrassed about it, my shame creeping up with its usual saturating heaviness, but I know from past efforts that speaking my desires into the world is a crucial part of the alchemy of change. The more I talk about it, the more I am moving that energy around and the more I am invited to notice how and when and why I talk about certain things. Does my language need shifting? Do my internal reactions and responses need tending? What IS my learned relationship to this thing and what do I actually want it to be?

I want to talk about architecture as an integral part of this process (hello, holy architecture! *Ron Howard voice* hey, that’s the name of the show).

My roommate and I were driving through our blessed country outskirts yesterday and she pointed out how appropriate it seemed that our toilet was having issues and recently needed replacing. It was appropriate, we agreed, because the owner of the house seems like the type of woman who has trouble letting things go, i.e. eliminating waste from the household. We then began to muse on our childhood homes and the routine issues those places faced and how inextricably linked those issues felt to our individual family dynamics. How beautiful, I thought, that the homes know.

I’ve always been sensitive to the energy of people, places, and things, and homes are no different. I see them as living beings. They’re not just passive structures, they are truly alive and they have feelings and a truly rich communication line with whoever is in the house. Those of you who know me personally are familiar with the tattoo of my childhood home running along my arm, and many of you spent time in that special place. My childhood wasn’t devoid of its emotional and familial challenges, but I do recall more magic than misery. We were a family of five with complex emotional tapestries that for the most part meshed very well. I didn’t often fight with my older siblings and there was always an abundance of love and creativity around. The home reflected that, to be sure. It was warm, inviting, and oftentimes downright otherworldly. It was a true hub for all of our friends over the years, many of us piling onto the basement carpet for sleepovers, or friends of my sister’s staying in the upstairs guest room for months at a time when they had nowhere else to go, or neighbors popping up at the screen door for this and that. We also threw a yearly pig roast for nearly a decade, the whole neighborhood showing up to square dance and go on hayrides and fill table after table with cheesy potatoes, green beans, and other secret family recipes. You could feel all of this in our home, along with its 120+ year long and sometimes very mysterious history.

The house would flood like clockwork if we had a big rain. It was an easy access point for droves of giant black ants every spring. The ceiling above the smaller dining room would crack and drip if the upstairs bath ran too much. The old farmhouse had so much to say, and it really responded to us. We were an emotional family, but kept a lot in and guarded. I know my sister and I were the more emotional watery ones so our angst and grief was often bigger and more obvious, but I swear that house would flood or drip in response to unspoken feelings, trying to orient us toward cracking ourselves open in kind. The ants would come when we were all shaking off the heaviness of winter to remind us to refocus ourselves and work together instead of compartmentalizing too much, to stay close and bonded despite all odds. The house just knew. It brought both questions and answers. It nudged me time and time again toward uncomfortable truths I needed to see, hear, and integrate. It held us all so incredibly well.

All architecture has something to say and is constantly speaking. I’m sure you’ve noticed stepping into a coffee shop or store or somebody’s home and experiencing a reaction to the colors, shapes, and energy of the place? You can do something with all of that information. You can adjust. You can set boundaries. You can open up.

Holy, holy, holy.

For the millionth time I am feeling grateful for my theatre background and education. I was able to come to this study of architectural energy much earlier than I otherwise might’ve due to studying Viewpoints. I learned Anne Bogart’s adapted Viewpoints method, used to help actors have a more full-bodied, well-rounded relationship to acting through time, space, story, emotion, movement, shape, and the vocal viewpoints of timbre, pitch, and volume. There really are countless ways to be in partnership with everything around us. Viewpoints helped me to realize how powerful my internal response mechanism is and the ways in which my body is constantly interacting with things. It’s all already talking, so why not truly listen and converse? This particular work is magnificent when dealing with a lot of emotion and offers so many different ways of seeing it and working with it and moving it around so that it can assist rather than hinder. I’m always interested in anything that will steer me away from avoidance and toward acceptance. A life-saving redirection.

The Viewpoints book is available for free online, right here, if you’re curious and would like to read more. There are a lot of great body exercises in there for exploring your own shape with the shapes around you.

Other life-savers as of late:

• The full Charlie Brown Holiday Music playlist on Spotify, which I listen to nearly 99% of the time between Oct-Dec or so

• High Garden’s Golden Roots tea blend. Warming, comforting, very yum if you’re a coconut person

• Jessica Dore’s book Tarot For Change, which I dive into almost every day as a new bible of sorts, and her weekly subscriber only (best $5 I spend every month) podcast, Offerings. She is wise, honest, and a great comfort to lean on whether I need to make sense of everything or if I just need permission to let the Great Mystery be what it is

• CHEERSING MY PLANTS

• Eating foods I loved as a child as a way to reconnect with myself (it’s been a month of macaroni and blow-pops)

I appreciate all the love you send me after I push these newsletters out into the universe. If you ever have questions about what I’ve written, please feel free to email me at rosehousecoaching@gmail.com. I’d love to include a future “Q&A” section in these publications if I get enough to respond to, so ask away.

Til next time. I love you. Thanks.