�

It has always been the bottom drawer. Since I was about three the bottom drawer of my dresser is where secret things hide, where memories collect, where poems and letters will see out the end of their days. Its difficult to have a sacred place in a house that is always bustling with people and business, and I�m not sure if whatever god or goddess is out there would think that a bottom dresser drawer is very sacred. I own no expensive jewellery, I don�t stash money, and I have very few possessions of real monetary value, so the sacredness is about these things in the drawer being personal and of sentimental worth only.

Of perhaps more importance to me is sacred time. Then, no matter where I am, the place becomes sacred through its use. Candles, incense, a beautiful scarf, and a half hour of meditation to calm my restless mind. Sometimes I can do without the accoutrements, and I just head out to where I can see the horizon, which in Melbourne is somewhat difficult to do, as it is a large flat sprawling city. The beach is always great, sitting on a sandhill, watching water meet human shores, sniffing the salty air. If the focus is very inward I head down to the creek that runs nearby, and crunch right down into the bushes at the water�s edge, stirring the water with a stick.

Water features greatly in my sacred time for some reason. Perhaps it�s a throwback to some ancient age when water didn�t run out of taps, and preserving the source was akin to a religion. Perhaps it is zen in essence, water like life flowing on regardless of what lies under the surface. Perhaps it is because it is the opposite of me � a fire sign, a temper that flares, a restless, burning impatience to eat up the things around me. It is the yin part of me, and I replenish that part of myself when I visit the water.

To the bottom dresser drawer, and to the water, I give thanks for enabling me to keep some semblance of sanity.