An Afternoon at the Lake Shrine
We went to the Lake Shrine in Malibu this weekend and spent the afternoon moving slowly through its gardens, paths, and temples. It was the first time I had returned since the space reopened after surviving the Palisades fires. Being back carried a quiet sense of gratitude that the grounds were preserved and that the atmosphere of the place felt intact.
The lake sits at the center of the grounds, encircled by a walking path lined with flowering plants, palms, and old trees. Koi drift beneath the surface while turtles rest near the edges. Ducks and swans move freely, unbothered by the visitors who pause along the water. The design feels intentional without being rigid, structured yet soft.
As we walked, we found ourselves sitting often. On stone benches tucked between plants. Inside temple spaces where light filtered gently through the windows. Each pause felt unplanned, guided more by the feeling of the moment than by any schedule. Walking and sitting blended together into a single, continuous meditation.
The tranquility of the space did much of the work on its own. The beauty drew attention inward without effort. There was very little to do except notice. Breath slowed. Senses sharpened. Presence arrived naturally, without needing to be summoned.
Even after a full week of work and responsibility, being at the Lake Shrine had an immediate calming effect. My body was still carrying the weight of physical labor from working on our own zen garden, hauling gravel and shaping paths. The moment I sat by the lake, that effort softened, as if my nervous system finally received permission to rest.
We had also spent much of the week with family, holding space for conversation, movement, and emotion. Sitting at the Lake Shrine felt like a natural exhale after all of that. A place where reflection could happen without needing words. A space that allowed everything from the week to settle on its own.
My meditations tend to deepen there, even with people moving quietly around the grounds. There is a sense of being held by something larger than personal effort. The environment seems to support attention, as though the space itself is participating in the practice. Nothing feels rushed. Nothing feels strained.
In many ways, the Lake Shrine feels like the closest thing to church for me. The silence inside the temple. The filtered light. The presence of water and wildlife just beyond the walls. All of it creates a feeling of reverence without formality. Being there reminds me that spiritual connection doesn’t require intensity. Sometimes it simply requires a place that invites stillness.
If you’re interested in building a practice that doesn’t rely on force or intensity, the Journey Through Meditation ebook offers simple ways to let stillness emerge naturally, whether you’re in nature or moving through everyday life.
