What are the Magical Places in Your Life? Can you Recreate Them?

Some physical places are so much a part of our early life that they become welded to our underlying beliefs, our senses, may even become a part of our personality. They can form a touchstone for grounding us. Sometimes, just to bring your magical place to mind can be a kind of salvation. Is there a way to recreate the magic?

My magical place: The Little Brook

I recently took a trip to New Jersey to visit my 94-year-old mother. One of the things I wanted to make time to do was to visit the little brook that ran behind our house and spend time in my special “sitting and thinking” place. There was a little patch of moss, along the edge of the brook where I could dangle my feet in the icy spring water, watch the clouds, listen to birdsong, and retreat from the rest of my family for a time.

My childhood home was in the middle of the woods on the charmingly titled Brook Lane on the edge of Conovertown, New Jersey. The street was named for a brook that wandered from Seaview Avenue back behind our property to cross the street just past our house as “The Little Brook:” then meander down the other side of Brook Lane until it crossed again, maybe a mile further down, where the terrain sloped and the water became deeper — “The Big Brook.” There was a sort of bridge at The Big Brook and you had to be “Big” to play there alone.

However, we could visit the little brook whenever we wanted, as it was within shouting distance of the back door. Though rivulets and swampy places abutted our property, it was mostly too wet and mucky and congested with fallen trees and briars to approach from that direction, so we’d walk the short distance down the road. In those days, Brook Lane had only a few houses, and cars drove down it infrequently. It was actually an event when a car passed, and we were taught to stay carefully on the side. But, I can still see our neighbor’s old dog, Nellie, sleeping in the middle of the road on its warm tarred surface.

When we went to the brook, we always went to the left side first. There was a path right down to the water’s edge and a patch of moss to sit on. Or perhaps the water was not flowing and something needed to be unstuck in order to free it up. Big sticks often dammed up the water, trapping leaves and other debris. My siblings and I took it upon ourselves to clean up any trash, clear obstructions, and keep the water flowing. It was a problem when the water wasn’t flowing because then it didn’t go under the road and come out on the south side. And part of the fun was sailing things from one side to the other, usually leaves or sticks or an occasional boat.

When we were older, we would go exploring along the length of the brook, using big sticks to swish weeds and brush out of our way like Ramar of the Jungle.

But as I got older and needed space from the busyness and turmoil of our household, I came here to sit and think about life and my place in it. It was my place to muse over the meaning of life, think about sad things, or try to imagine eternity.

I sat on the moss, running my fingers in it–is there anything so soft as moss? Dangling my feet in the shallow water, digging into the sand with my toes. I stared up at the clouds, listened for birds, sometimes writing poetry or letters. This place was my playground but also my private sanctuary, my muse.

Years later

I visited the brook last week. It had changed a lot over the years, of course. There was a house built at the back of the lot where it is situated, but the owners had called their place a “nature preserve” and even had a sign from some nature-supporting organization attached to a tree at the entrance to their long driveway. That was nice because the brook itself had mostly been left alone to house the myriad kinds of wildlife that flourished there. However, there is now a big stand of bamboo along the road and around their driveway, making it impossible to get inside to sit on that little patch of moss — though it’s still there.

I stuck my head in a ways and got a whiff of the smell of the brook. I hadn’t remembered there was a smell, but that momentary sniff reminded me of everything I loved about the place, and the many raw and tender emotions, the urgent passions, and the curious longings that had risen and fallen in its embrace. I am grateful for just that much.

Magical places

I searched for “magical places” on Unsplash and found so many kinds of physical places: castles, waterfalls, temples, gardens, seaside vistas, and ancient rock formations. There were also simple backyard bird feeders, rocking chairs, comfy couches, (oddly, a picture of a handsome guy in a T-shirt kept reappearing- well, I guess he could be magical, for someone)

It seems everybody has a different idea of a magical place. What is yours? Have you ever thought about it? Take some time to consider:

• Places you spent time as a child and often bring to mind, or maybe places you’ve forgotten but which have strong feelings attached to them
• Places you often wished to visit or to return to
• Places or even pictures of places you feel inspired by, or where you feel connected with spirit or nature.
• Places where you felt at home, at peace
• Places where important things happened in your life

Can I recreate this magical place?

I live in Maine, now, and though there are springs and water and mossy places, this forest full of rocks and conifers smells nothing like the swamps of southern New Jersey. I don’t know what I could do to recreate that smell. However, I have a memory of it. Just talking about it can stimulate memory, and that is something.

How can you recreate your magical place?

Can you actually go back?

If possible, go back there from time to time to refresh your memory. Even if things have changed, the parts that are the same may help you recall details you have forgotten. Maybe, like me, you will notice something you hadn’t remembered in a long time.

that momentary sniff reminded me of everything I loved about the place,

Create a similar place in nature or in your home, if you can.

A garden with a few of the same plants, a shelf in your home with special objects that remind you of your special place, a tree or bench that you associate with your good feelings about the place, can be a substitute.

Create a collage of pictures of the place or places like it.

This can be a fun project, and really, the sky is the limit. You could use a sheet of paper, a poster board, or paper a whole room in a way that reminds you of your magical place.

In your imagination

When I do hypnotherapy, I often ask the client to think of an especially beautiful, safe, and welcoming place where they could go, in their mind. Once they have pictured this, I suggest they use all of their senses to recreate it as vividly as possible: What do you see there? What can you hear? Are there any smells? Touch some things in this place. What do they feel like? Using all of your senses helps the place come alive.

Close your eyes and imagine the place, using all your senses to call it to mind. Give it a special one or two-word name, a word that can be like a key for you to get the idea of the whole place. Practice going to this place. Say its name and picture, smell, hear, taste, feel it. Do it every day whenever you need a break. Use it frequently. It is your own special place, no one else need know about it, though you can invite others if you wish.

This place can be an anchor for you, a place to return to when you need help, grounding, calming, soothing.

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