In Celtic spirituality, thin places, or thin spaces, are those places where heaven and earth are closest. We have places that feel sacred and holy. “The Wall” honoring the Viet Nam soldiers in Washington, D.C., is one of those sacred places, even though every time I have been, it has been crowded with people—women, children, men, soldiers, tourists. It is “sacred ground.”
Arlington National Cemetery is the same. It is sacred ground, in part because it is a cemetery, but because it feels different somehow from other places.
It is easy to find these “thin places,” or sacred places, when we travel, but the challenge is to find the thin places at home in the “known world.”
I thought about the idea of thin places today after reading a Pacebook post from a friend who lives in Atlanta, a sister photographer and photographic artist. I went out seeking my own thin place. I have written so much about the ponds and have photographed them so often. I hesitate to guess how many images of the pond and the area around it I have in my archives. Yet, no matter how many times I walk around them, there is a thinness there that is at once isolated from “the world,” and yet very much a part of it. While I am walking, I feel as though I enter a different kind of space. Yes, today, the ground was a bit mushy and soft after several days of rain and downpours. It was breezy, but it was comfortable. There was still traffic zooming past up and down the road.
I am thinking now about the “meaning” of thin places, and how they manifest themselves to me. For now, I am content to know that they exist, and that they are welcoming places, places that are holy and “set apart” if only for a few minutes.