The depth of a contemplative pocket

Quiet containers of (and for) creativity

One weekday recently, in the middle of the daytime, I was languishing in the bath—partly berating myself for not doing something more productive on (shock! horror!) a work day. But I was also listening to a podcast, during which the interviewer argued that, if we are to live with more purpose, we regularly need to create ‘contemplative spaces.’  

In that moment, I realised, I was inside one of these contemplative spaces—which the writer Virginia Woolf called ‘moments of being’; I also realised that, if I chose, I could relax and stop giving myself a hard time about it. The experience (and the podcast) led me to reflect on the relationship between contemplation and space(s).

What emerged during my reflection was a phrase I don’t think I’ve heard before: ‘contemplative pocket.’

Photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash

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How do we define a pocket?

A pocket is an empty thing waiting to be filled: a piece of fabric—sewn into an item of clothing—that is designed to hold things. If a person has ‘deep pockets’, we understand them to be wealthy. Implicit in these definitions is a sense either of lack (the empty pocket waiting to be filled) or of abundance (deep pockets full of objects or money).

But I thought about how a ‘pocket’ could also be a metaphor for who we are rather than what we have (or don’t have).

Contemplative pockets are containers for waiting. They needn’t ‘contain’ anything except ourselves: our essential being. They needn’t ‘contain’ material objects in the way that actual pockets do—objects like loose change or missing buttons—but more abstract things like patience, curiosity and self-compassion: things that allow us to remain in the contemplative pocket long enough to garner the insight or the experience we need. For many people—me included—remaining in this place requires a large amount of trust and surrender to sit with the discomfort of the unknown.

When we’re creative, when we’re engaged in making or creating things, the contemplative pocket is a container in which we can both BE and DO.

We can slow down, stop, notice ourselves and the critical voices that arise; perhaps (if we’re lucky) our pocket will also include the supportive, self-compassionate voice that says: keep going, you’re doing your best, you’re expressing who you are. This is valid.

If we are to create, we also, of course, need to ‘do.’  This involves carving out time for our practice (whatever that may be), to show up regularly and fill the pocket with things that sustain both us and those with whom we want to connect. These things include, amongst other things: the expression of our emotions, our ideas, our experience. Our art.

This month, I’ve intentionally been dwelling in a contemplative pocket, doing the things that need to be done but mainly orientated towards being. In the past, this would have terrified me—so much so that I wouldn’t even have contemplated a month of being in a place of not doing (and not knowing). Now, I realise (perhaps for the first time) the true value of what’s inside the pocket—patience, curiosity, self-compassion—and how those things will fertilise whatever comes next.

Somehow, for this season—this month, or quarter (or…actually I’m not quite sure how long), I remain in this contemplative pocket, experiencing it simultaneously as full and empty; as being and having.

And you?

How do you design spaces in which things—ideas, projects, creative practices—might grow and develop? What makes it easier (or would make it easier) for you to create, and stay inside, those spaces?

This week and beyond, may your contemplative pockets be deep—and may they support your wellbeing, growth and creativity.

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If this topic resonates for you, I recommend you check out this week’s piece ‘Skyward Reading’ in

Tara Penry

’s joyously beautiful Substack Quiet Reading.