Luminous-ground

Our Luminous Journey

Inspired by the architect Christopher Alexander and his eloquence regarding timeless, living space where people can come alive, we four women from Belgium, California, Massachusetts and Vermont joined in an ongoing exploration of our own wisdom around powerful place and  deepening space. We view inner space (our soul-selves), physical space (gatherings in physical settings) conversational space (where voices and hearts join in authentic dialogue) and on-line space (virtual intentional space) as equal doorways for our inquiry.

Join us. We value your insights and welcome your comments.

Ria Baeck
Sheryl Erickson
Amy Lenzo
Karen Speerstra

Sanctuaries - Places Apart

For nine years, Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, a flat place surrounded by bluffs, where the Wisconsin River meets the Mississippi, was Karen's home.  It’s an old sanctuary place where animosities could be set aside and people would not harm one another while camping there.  Years ago, the warring Fox and Sauk people pulled up their canoes and peacefully traded with one another. Then the white people came and they, too, safely  traded for furs and signed treaties at this commonly held "safe place" on the river.

Public Spaces Come Alive

Christopher Alexander said, as an opener to chapter 6 in The Timeless Way of Building:

        "The specific patterns, out of which a building or a town is made
        may be alive or dead. To the extent they are alive, they let our inner
        forces loose, and, set us free; but when they are dead they keep
        us locked in inner conflict."

Streetsblog  offers fine examples of what’s happening to make cities come alive in Australian and elsewhere.

Also check out how David Engwicht from Brisbane single-handedly “calmed traffic” and offers ideas for all of us to reclaim our city streets. His goal was to reduce the volume of traffic in neighborhoods by 50% and bring front yards back as places to play, relax and reflect. 

Strong Families Have Sense of Place

The Obama familiy soon will be moving from Chicago to Washington D.C., from a house steeped in University of Chicago Lutheran student traditions to the White House. Malia and Sasha will, no doubt, always think of Chicago as home.

Jane Howard, in a book she published back in the late 70s called Families, says, strong families have a sense of place. We know Hyannis is that sort of place for the Kennedys. Sand Creek, Wisconsin is that sort of place for me--what is that "place" for you?  And DO strong families need a sense of place? What happens to families without a sense of place? How do places--real or virtual-- connect families and help to make them stronger? And how do we now define clan/tribe/family in relation to place?

A Chartres Experience

I’ve only been to Chartres cathedral once, but when I walked through that big solid west door under the famous rose window, I knew I was feeling something different than I ever felt in a large church before—something at a deep soul level.  My heart seemed to calm and race at the same time.

I was “lapis lazulied” by the blues. I was “rubied” by the reds. I hadn’t read much about Chartres, so I wasn’t pre-programmed to expect anything unusual; but it just overwhelmed me. I stood there gazing up at the color of the windows, at the myriad of shapes, their stories and symbols, at the arching space itself that pulled me past the labyrinth to the altar and I knew I HAD, simply HAD to go back to Boston and read everything possible about this place. I felt as people must feel when they can’t make out the letters in a book, that I had to teach  myself to read this stone book.  For some reason I could not explain, I felt I had to know—from a head perspective, how to interpret what my heart was feeling. This forest of columns was calling me (back?) to something I had no conscious words for.

Patterns Create Connections

In A Pattern Language Christopher Alexander says, "Isolated buildings are symptoms of a disconnected, sick society." When I walk down our Vermont country dirt road, I see remnants of foundations here and there. Houses were once build very close up here on Kelsey Mountain, but now all that's left of a former community are a few foundation stones, some stone walls, a few old lilac bushes and several patches of tiger lilies someone planted long ago. I also pass the brick remains of a little one room school house, long since abandoned.

I've heard that when people wanted to throw a party, they'd stand on their porch and blow a horn.  Neighbors  watched out for each other up here in what can be a very cold and forbidding place at times, and they still do.  But we now have our share of McMansions dotting the Vermont landscape--and I've noticed each of them looks extremely isolated.

When we moved to Cambridge, MA  from Dubuque, Iowa where we lived on a cul-de-sac and knew all our neighbors, I thought, "We'll never meet anyone here in 'heady' Cambridge--everyone will be too busy at one of our numerous universities to bother to know us." But we lived in a townhouse with eight adjoining units--and everybody knew everybody. We were anything but isolated.

How will urban areas of the future benefit from their lack of isolation? How will our more rural areas compensate? What if our stores were so close together that walking between them would be pleasurable, rather than driving from huge box store complexes to huge box store complexes? Do our communities foster isolation?