Sanctuary and Pratyahara
A number of years ago, my daughter moved into a studio apartment in Boston. The apartment was three rooms—a living space that doubled as a bedroom, a bathroom and a tiny, efficiency kitchen. The day of her move she was overwhelmed as her furniture and boxes of clothes and dishes quickly consumed any free floor space in her very small living quarters. I could tell from the expression on her face and her strained tone of voice that she was fighting a meltdown. It was hard to know where to start unpacking.