Once in a while you find yourself in a place where space transcends time.  Where minutes lose their grip and space breathes life into your soul.

This summer I was off the grid on a family vacation in Yellowstone.  We started in the town of Big Sky, Montana; a name that sounds redundant.  Aren’t all skies big?... Until you are there.

The expansive sky, prairies, and mountains invite you to feel the grace of space.  Grace . . .  as Webster's defines, the “unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration.”

Our souls aren’t linear.  They don’t ask for timelines.  They ask for the roundness of space.

It was our first attempt at a big family road trip.  And as predicted, we had a whining backseat with their own requests, “I just want to shop!”, “Geysers give me headaches!”, “When are we going to start having fun?”

Eventually the grace of space seeped in and they opened, softened and blossomed with energy.

Like a small child, our soul can’t put its needs into words. Instead it sometimes shuts down, leaving us with a nondescript heaviness or cries out, leaving us with an aching tightness.

My family experienced the healing that comes from the grace of space.  Now comes the classic post vacation question: How can we continue to create space to tend to our souls in our over-wound, time-based world?

I think it starts with mindfully clearing space in those moments that we do have.  Full attention, single tasking, consciously slowing down, and listening for quiet in the mind or the depth of our breath . . .  our internal space.

If that doesn’t work, take one moment to connect with grace.  Look up at the big sky, feel some grass, smell a flower, listen for a bird, find the roundness of your soul in tonight’s moon.