Becoming Lightkeepers: Finding Our Sanctum in Nature

In times like these, it can feel as if the world is moving too fast, pulling our attention in every direction, and pressing upon our hearts. And yet, even here, we are called to remember the light we carry. We are called to step into it gently, intentionally, with awareness that every act of presence matters.

This is why the word sanctum has been on my mind. A sanctum is more than a space — it is a holding place for the sacred, a refuge for reflection, and a container for transformation. It is a place where we can step out of the noise of the world and into the quiet pulse of life, a place where we are fully witnessed, fully seen, and fully held.

Nature offers us these sanctums, if we choose to recognize them. The towering trees, their roots sunk deep into the earth; the flowing rivers, carving wisdom into the land; the wildflowers, blooming boldly in hidden corners; the mountains, ancient and steady; the wind, the sun, the rain, the fire within us — all these are teachers and guides. They show us how to hold presence, how to endure, how to open, how to transform.

When we gather together — women walking this path, hearts aligned — we can create circles of light, small sanctums of our own making. In these spaces, we honor the sacred rhythms of the seasons, the turning of the Wheel, and the wisdom of the more-than-human world. We pause, reflect, and remember that we are not separate from these teachers, but intimately woven into their web of life.

To be a lightkeeper is not about grand gestures or heroic acts. It is about showing up fully, with curiosity, reverence, and tenderness. It is about noticing the subtle miracles around us, listening for the whispers of guidance in the rustle of leaves or the curve of a riverbank, and honoring the sacred within ourselves and each other.

As I look ahead to the year, I am imagining more opportunities to gather — more online sanctums, more circles of light, more gentle rituals that help us lean into this sacred partnership with the Earth, with one another, and with the quiet wisdom within ourselves. In a world that often pulls us outward and apart, these sanctums offer a chance to return — to the Earth, to the rhythms of the seasons, and to our own inner knowing.

And in returning, we find that light — our light — ready to shine, steady and warm, for ourselves and for the world around us.

Wild blessings,

Kathleen