Grief is not a single feeling. It is a sequence: arrival, confrontation, release, and return. Rainbow Meadow is designed to mirror that sequence in physical space.

The threshold narrows the world. The bridge marks a crossing. The grove holds you in stillness. The bell gives your grief a voice. The meadow opens again, wider than before.

This is not metaphor. It is architecture. The spatial logic of the sanctuary is shaped by how people actually move through loss: not in a straight line, but through passages that ask different things of you.

When a place understands this, it becomes more than scenery. It becomes structure. It holds what you carry so you do not have to hold it alone.