Tick Tock

In planning to move away in three months, I force myself to get rid of what I don’t need. 

Evidence of my gluttony surrounds me – all the crap I’ve accumulated because it seemed necessary for this little project or that. So impractical. All my perpetual dabbling instigates consumerism. (If you object to toxic capitalism, boycott.) It also prevents me from focusing on the creative endeavors I truly enjoy now. Here comes the weight of objects – telling me how I’ve disappointed myself, then the spiraling downward…

I am love, but broken love. No, wounded. I lost faith in myself for whatever reason, and it holds me back. When I doubt myself or feel in-the-wrong, instead of looking at my faults head-on and accepting them, I’ve been running out of steam. I injured my back, which slows me more.

Example: I used to create whimsical cookie and cake gifts for friends. Looking to bring brightness into their lives or showing off? When I ask myself that and see the negative second option of the question, I’m scolding – faulting – myself. Oh dear. I wasn’t perfect. I hold onto the past too long. Down I go.

Question: Do I feel proud when praised? Yes. Is that why I baked? Maybe a little, but my primary purpose wasn’t ego boosting. Okay? Okay???!

Checking further: Back to my many shelves of baking supplies (some of which are past their expiration date)…how often has Maggie mythologized the shock of seeing those cupboards for the first time? (I’m never sure if she’s mocking me or amazed at my dedication to meaningless details.) Oh oh. Going dark again.  

Remedy: Learn to stay cheerful when in shadow. Shake it off. Notice when I’m stuck, and stop sinking. Take a break. Breathe. 

Forced downsizing: Make room for open thoughts and open heart.

Reinforce: The intention is liberation. While this clearing work might feel odious, having it done will lighten my load. The promise of greater space/new adventures motivates me.

So I am clearing places inside me that prevent me from going forward. I’m giving away and tossing out oceans of items. At this point it doesn’t matter how I managed to stuff myself/my home so densely; what matters is no longer letting that reality anchor me in a woeful trap of grimy, putrid thoughts. I clear a spot. I wipe it down. Voila!

Deeper Cleaning

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.