Living in Brooklyn means I’m surrounded by constant motion—sirens, subways rumbling underground, neighbors chatting on the stoop, and the endless hum of city life. It’s exciting and inspiring, but it can also be exhausting. When I first moved here, I struggled to find a sense of stillness. The parks helped, but they were often crowded. My apartment was cozy, but it never felt quite quiet enough.
Then one day, I stepped onto my rooftop, and everything changed. I realized I was standing on the bones of something sacred—a space above the noise where I could breathe, plant, and be. Over time, that rooftop has become my refuge, a little sanctuary in the middle of the city.
Why Sacred Spaces Matter
In Buddhism, we talk often about finding stillness within ourselves, no matter the circumstances. But I’ve also learned that the environment around us can help—or hinder—that practice. When the world outside is chaotic, it’s harder to find calm inside.
That’s why creating sacred spaces matters. A sacred space doesn’t have to be religious or formal—it’s simply a place that supports presence, peace, and connection. For me, my rooftop garden is that place. It’s where I meditate, sip tea, write in my journal, or just sit quietly among my plants.
Starting Small
I didn’t transform my rooftop overnight. In fact, it started with just one plant: a pot of basil. I set it out in the corner, and suddenly that corner felt different—more alive, more inviting. That one pot turned into two, then five, and before I knew it, I had a small cluster of green companions.
The lesson here is that sacred spaces don’t need to be grand. A single plant on a windowsill, a candle on a small table, or a comfortable chair by the window can be the beginning. What matters is the intention behind it—the choice to dedicate a spot to stillness, reflection, or joy.
Designing with the Senses
As my rooftop garden grew, I started paying attention to how it felt to be there. I wanted it to touch all my senses so that being in the space pulled me naturally into the present moment.
- Sight: I added flowers in calming colors—lavender, white, and soft yellow. I also placed a small statue of the Buddha to remind me of my practice.
- Sound: I hung wind chimes and planted grasses that whisper when the wind blows. Birds come often now, adding their own music.
- Scent: Lavender, mint, and rosemary bring fragrance to the air, and in the summer heat, the smells deepen and soothe me.
- Taste: I keep edible herbs close by so I can pluck a leaf of basil or mint, a simple act that reminds me of the earth’s generosity.
- Touch: I included plants with interesting textures—velvety lamb’s ear, smooth succulents, even moss in small trays. Sometimes I sit quietly and just run my fingers over the leaves.
Each sense draws me deeper into the moment, turning an ordinary rooftop into a meditation hall under the sky.
Making Space for Practice
A sacred space isn’t just about how it looks—it’s about how you use it. On my rooftop, I set aside a small wooden bench where I can sit to meditate, pray, or just breathe. I bring out a cushion when I want to sit on the ground, closer to the plants.
Even a few minutes up there can shift my whole day. The act of stepping into the space feels like crossing a threshold. I leave behind my phone, my to-do lists, my worries, and enter a place that’s just for presence.
Finding Refuge in the City
What I love most about my rooftop refuge is that it proves peace is possible even in the busiest environments. I used to think I had to escape the city to find stillness—that I needed mountains, oceans, or forests. But now I see that sacredness can be built wherever we are, with whatever we have.
The city has its own kind of energy, and my rooftop sanctuary doesn’t block it out completely. Instead, it balances it. I still hear the occasional honk or shout, but now it feels distant, softened by the rustle of leaves and the scent of rosemary at my side.
Inviting Others In
At first, my rooftop was just for me. But over time, I started inviting friends up for tea, or letting neighbors take home herbs. I realized that a sacred space doesn’t have to be solitary—it can also be shared. When others join me up there, the sense of refuge grows stronger. It becomes not just my sanctuary, but a little offering of peace to the people around me.
Creating Your Own Refuge
You don’t need a rooftop to build a sacred space. You can create a refuge anywhere:
- A corner of your living room with a chair and a plant.
- A balcony with a small herb pot and a candle.
- Even a simple mat by the window where you can sit in stillness.
What matters most is that you set an intention: This is where I come to reconnect. With that intention, even the smallest space can feel sacred.
Final Reflections
My rooftop refuge isn’t perfect. Some plants don’t survive the winter, the wind can be fierce, and sometimes I can still hear the city’s chaos. But perfection was never the goal. The goal was to carve out a space where I could breathe, reflect, and remember what matters.
Every time I climb those stairs and step onto the rooftop, I feel a shift inside me. The noise quiets, the air feels lighter, and I remember that sacredness isn’t something you have to search far and wide for. It’s something you can build, right where you are.