Date: Dec 28th, 2007 7:01:28 am - Subscribe
It is winter in the world I used to live in. People there are hiding, hibernating, resting, and conserving their energies. They are looking at snow and dreaming of summer.
It is barely autumn-temperature outside my window, and I find myself overflowing with initiative to move, to change, to purge and clean and renew. I do it every year, but the timing has changed along with the geography.
There comes a time when it's all too much, when all the accumulated stuff of a life becomes like a persistent ringing in the ears or a physical weight around the neck. And when that feeling builds and increases and grows, the first extended time off from work is like an explosion.
I am cleaning. I have cleaned. I am donating and tossing and shredding and paring myself down to the bare essentials of possessions, vowing once again that in simplicity there is peace, and I will have peace.
But ... I am painfully aware that I do not live in a vacuum, nor do I live unencumbered by other bodies in motion - each with their own accumulated stuff that I have no right to purge.
And I am brought once again to the idea that only when I live alone, in the tiny apartment with the hardwood floors and the white sheer curtains and the cat-I'm-not-allergic-to, above the coffeeshop and across the street from the bookstore in that little seaside tourist town of my imagination - only then will I find the Peace I constantly quest for.
But the destination is not the most crucial part of the journey, and so I try to relax and remember the wisdom I have tattooed on my ankle ... "Because how you get there is the worthier part."
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