Every hotel room, every apartment we rent, I am sage-ing. And I

The words of Jenna Dewan — “Every hotel room, every apartment we rent, I am sage-ing. And I have crystals that I travel with. It just makes me feel better.” — are not mere musings of a traveler, but the quiet invocation of an eternal practice: the cleansing of space, the sanctifying of dwelling, the guarding of the soul’s peace. In these words we hear the echo of ancient rites, for since the dawn of civilizations, mankind has sought to purify the places where he rests, to cast away unseen shadows, and to call forth harmony.

To sage a chamber is not simply to burn herbs; it is to declare with fire and smoke: “This place shall not hold the residue of sorrow, nor the heaviness of past strangers. Here, only light may dwell.” The crystal, too, becomes more than stone. It is a talisman, an anchor of intent, a silent companion whispering of clarity and balance. Dewan’s practice is no trivial superstition. It is a remembrance of humanity’s bond with the earth — that through nature’s gifts, the spirit may find alignment when far from home.

Think of the wandering armies of Alexander the Great, who, before setting foot upon conquered soil, often invoked the gods through flame and incense. They knew that a man’s dwelling — whether tent, palace, or hut — bears the unseen memories of those who came before. Without cleansing, those memories weigh down the heart. Just as Alexander’s priests carried sacred fires across the deserts to guard the soldiers’ spirits, so too does Dewan carry her sage and her crystals across the shifting landscapes of hotels and apartments, making each strange place her sanctuary.

There is profound wisdom here for all who live in restless times. In an age where men and women journey ceaselessly, where we lodge in cities not our own and work in halls built by others, how often do we neglect the truth that our surroundings shape our spirit? We adorn our bodies but forget the air we breathe. We protect our homes but ignore the chambers in which we wander. Dewan’s ritual reminds us that the soul yearns for more than mere shelter — it yearns for a consecrated space, however temporary, in which it may find rest.

To cleanse a place is to cleanse oneself. When the smoke of sage rises, it lifts also the burdens of the heart. When a crystal catches the light, it mirrors the clarity we seek within. This is why such practices endure across cultures — from the frankincense of the East to the cedar of the tribes, from the ringing of bells in temples to the sprinkling of holy water in chapels. All bear the same message: man cannot thrive if his dwelling is left to chaos.

What lesson shall the listeners carry forth? It is this: wherever you go, create spaces of peace. Let no dwelling be only walls and furniture; let it be charged with your spirit’s intention. Do not surrender your calm to the weight of what lingers unseen. Instead, cleanse, bless, and make holy the space in which you breathe. If not with smoke or stone, then with words of prayer, with acts of gratitude, with gestures of love that transform any place into home.

In practice, let each traveler carry a small ritual of renewal. It may be the lighting of a candle, the setting of a crystal upon a table, or even a whispered prayer before sleep. When entering a new room, pause, breathe deeply, and declare: “This place shall serve me in peace.” In doing so, you will anchor your wandering spirit, and wherever you go, you shall never be a stranger.

Thus we see: Jenna Dewan’s words are not only about sage and crystals, but about the greater truth that man must shape his environment lest it shape him. The wise do not merely endure the spaces they inherit; they transform them into sanctuaries. Let this be the teaching: to walk through life not as a guest in foreign halls, but as a guardian of sacred spaces, carrying peace wherever you rest.