After creating altars everywhere, I let them collect dust. This has to end.
Soot piling high tells me I’ve neglected to care for myself as a beloved being. Human. Floundering or sinking, I submit to distractions as a way to avoid labor. I know I can do better.
After identifying the problem, my task is to continue clearing, forgiving myself for real, devoting my attention to movement of body and movement of stale stuff.
Full moon boosts my resolve.
Started in my sanctuary, vacuum hosing into tight spots and under furniture. Wishing for freshness when I step in, and praying I reflect springtime, exude infectious joy. To this, I surrender.
Next I clobbered the previously-avoided spots in my bedroom (which I had recently boasted was a cleared area of my home), and as I squatted down to dig into corners, there I saw three items perched together: an abandoned smoke detector, a lovely wooden box full of old, delicately patterned gauze-thin napkins from Japan, and a cardboard box containing Husky plastic trash bags. Can you guess why they were in my bedroom? Me neither.
I laughed, “Who says the universe isn’t filled with signs for us?” The absurdity!
Happy to report that the three items have been removed from my bedroom, reassigned.