At this moment, I’m sitting inside an all glass house, built by Frank Lloyd Wright, perched on a cliff overlooking and within a redwood canyon, next to the Pacific Ocean.

The trees are like guardians of the mist—they stand protective and giant. Unless you’ve stood beneath a Redwood tree, the size is incomprehensible.

I’ve been here countless times, literally, on lazy afternoons when I’m trying to escape whatever reality I’m amidst.

I don’t live here, but it’s home for me in every definition I’ve come across.

I’ve created and then lived in a house like this once, full of glass and vulnerability, strategically and emphatically making certain that form outweighed function at every turn.

I felt cooked from the inside out. I discovered that in a glass house, I can’t get away from myself. My drama, my mood swings, my struggles and insecurities; they all seem to bubble up with nowhere to go, demanding that I face my shit and work through it.

There is literally nowhere to hide. This turned out to be the gift I never expected.

In a house like this, wiring, plumbing and lighting are a challenge. Turns out, I was re-wired as I re-wired the place. Living in such intense beauty, feeling like I was outside all the time, unable to turn away from the stars at night, feeling the extremes of weather and realizing I was still ok, still protected and warm and shielded regardless of what was happening: it changed me.

The wind, the sun, the rain: you’re on high alert in a glass house. It’s as if you’re in the storm but somehow shielded from the actual elements.

After a while, the extremes of my mind and our world didn’t have the power over me that they once had. I had learned to count on safety, stability and warmth in the midst of it all.

We should all live in glass houses — expose ourselves, be as vulnerable and real and authentic and fully alive as possible. I have come to realize the elements are essential.

Like elephant journal on Facebook.

Assistant Editor: Meagan Edmondson/Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: Pixoto