I was sifting through
mountains of papers
looking for something.
One of the mountains shifted,
sending an avalanche to the floor.
And then in the next second,
And I said,
Okay, me too.
So I fell to the floor,
lay down on my back,
stared up at the track lighting
on my ceiling.
Here we all are, on the floor.
I felt my body was tired.
I didn’t want to search anymore.
I knew that whatever it was,
either it would turn up,
or I would replace it.
So I went upstairs,
and I got in bed,
and had dreams
about mountains and avalanches.
It’s time to retire to a quieter place;
my body aches from the work I’ve done
and I need some time to recover.
My plan is to slow down, rest.
When I awaken
I’ll face the mess.
Bit by bit I’ll keep what matters
and let go everything else.
Possessions, relationships, thoughts, behaviors,
it’s time to look at all of it and choose.
Ok. Brace yourselves.
I’m almost all the way moved in.
Just one or two more CARLOADS.
I mean…how did I accumulate all this stuff?
People are telling me
Just be patient.
You just moved in.
Unpacking takes time.
And I’m thinking
I have way too much stuff.
I hoping that my letting go muscle
will get stronger and stronger
as I go through this.
I took one carload to Goodwill today…
toys, shoes, baby clothes, rugs,
shower curtains, towels…
and a beautiful (expensive) bedspread
that we got as a wedding present…
I looked at it last night and thought,
I couldn’t possibly take a new lover
into my bed with this thing on it.
(I mean, I’ve been celibate for 2.5 years,
but maybe someday there will be
a lover in my midst…)
And so this bedspread had to go.
I keep holding a vision
of myself in a better place
and I look at these objects
and ask if I want to take them with me
into my future.
If it doesn’t fit with my future vision,
I let it go.
I didn’t realize that I had been working so hard
my whole entire life
to arrive in this moment
with enough strength
to simply let go.
Now that I’ve been
“I love myself, I love myself,”
as much as possible,
I’ve been naturally drawn
to taking better care of my living space.
I’ve been decluttering the house
room by room,
taking trips to the local donation spots,
and each time I release something,
I can hear the house
sighing in relief,
If space is really what we need,
why do we spend some much time
to fill it with?
may we stop
just long enough
to take a breath,
look into one another’s eyes,
where we are.
Sorting through years of being together,
so many memories surfacing,
the sentimentality of it all.
When you left,
you took what you wanted
and left the rest,
an apt metaphor for our life together.
Now I’m left to sort through
the aftermath of our togetherness…alone.
Our children’s artwork, books, clothing, and toys,
bits of this and that,
odds and ends accumulated over the years…
You told me I didn’t want to move
because I have so much sh*t
that I just don’t want to deal
with sorting it and packing it up…
You were only partially correct.
For starters…a lot of this is OUR sh*t, sir,
which is what happens when two people
create two children and live together
for eight years.
A part of me doesn’t want to deal with it,
you are right—
but that’s just one part.
That’s the part you knew and criticized,
the one that was never good enough for you.
But I have other parts.
There’s one part who has been
only too glad to purge myself of you,
my body, my mind, my heart, my spirit,
my home…free from you.
There’s another part that is so strong
and so resilient, it has been working diligently
to release, release, release the old
in order to welcome the new.
Another part is really glad for the future
without you in it as my tormentor,
and who looks forward
to (one day when I’m ready)
stepping into the embrace
of a real man,
a man who sees me and loves me
for my power and strength,
my creativity and sensuality,
my generosity and compassion,
my ability to clearly articulate my thoughts and feelings,
my humor and my excitement about life.*
Yet another part is deeply calm and peaceful,
and maybe a little amused at this whole process.
Turns out, sir,
you didn’t know me.
You didn’t know me very much at all.
*Yes, if you had seen and appreciated any of these qualities, our story would have been very different. Your loss, buster. But namaste all the same. 🙏🏻🌈✨
I’ve been receiving the clear message
from my intuition,
or maybe from just good common sense
that I need to let go of my old stuff
in order to welcome new experiences
into my life.
if my heart is full of the past,
longing for a love that once was,
how can it beat with a new rhythm
for someone ready to share love with me now?
If my eyes see only my past
how can I train them
to look toward my future?
If my body is full of my past,
how can I teach it
to move and dance into a new reality?
I’ve been telling myself
that I was too depressed,
to start going through my stuff.
But Spirit has been speaking louder and louder
and now I am finally listening.
I realize that I’ve been scared to look at the piles of things
in my basement,
afraid of the memories they will trigger.
But today I feel strong, ready and willing
to face whatever it is, and clear it out,
so that I can have a new, spacious experience
and welcome what I really want into my life.
I’M GOING IN NOW.
WISH ME LUCK!
The piles of
the stuff we had moved
during our move
that hadn’t yet
been put away
in our new home
were weighing heavily
on my mind and heart and soul–
and they were just looking terrible,
sitting there, doing nothing,
out in plain sight.
I was wanting a bright
to create a place to sit with my family
and perhaps share
a moment of meditation.
let’s just do this,
and I began moving the stuff.
I moved the piles out of my chosen corner.
I vacuumed, mopped,
and felt full of hope and promise
as I surveyed the luminous space.
and things went downhill from there.
Both kids were fussy, needy,
vocal, pushy with each other,
whiny to me.
By mid afternoon I was losing it
and by bedtime
I could barely contain my fury.
I was just glad my husband came home.
Glad to take a shower.
The consecration of
my chosen space will wait
Tonight I sit in the makeshift space
in my bedroom
right by my closet doors.
Earplugs, hat pulled over my eyes,
old kitty caterwauling,
none of this matters.
It doesn’t matter where I sit.
I just matters that I sit.