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.
Sometimes we get caught up in our stuff.
Sometimes we identify so closely with it
that it becomes an extension of our self–
our stuff becomes us.
Sometimes we become so obsessed with acquiring things
that we lose touch with what we already have.
All of a sudden, we have so much stuff
that we can’t find anything of value
hiding in the mountains of our perceived identity.
We might even become buried alive by all this stuff.
What is an alternative to this terrifying scenario?
The stuff is not you,
and the fear of letting go
is not as intolerable as you imagine it to be.
As you soften your grip on your stuff
you increase your handle on reality.
When you let go of illusion and open your eyes to life,
you will see that you have always had
everything you need,
and so it will be
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.
Move the boxes,
unpack the stuff.
Try to find places
for all the stuff.
Space runs out quickly.
Why do I have so much stuff?