Eyes close. Darkness absorbs. Quiet envelopes. Stand aside. Release the threads that bind. A glimpse of freedom. A taste of honey. A curling lip of a smile. Leaves flutter, birds twitter.
To let go of a bedroom, cluttered, dusty under dresser and bed. To move these things around and out. How impossible it seemed just weeks ago. Yet now, on this day, I say, “Yes.” Do this. I have help. I need it for this movement, to get beyond the unconscious inertia of keeping things the same and familiar. Clutter keeps the dust of old mind thoughts in their place. To move it, discard it, is to stir up old images, feelings yet still so unconscious.
My friend arrives. She’s the one I pay to hold my hand, see with new eyes the “oh so familiar” piles, and very useful(maybe) things that sit on my dresser, my table. With her there, I see more. I can let go. She moves efficiently, with a smile and nod.
“Need this?”
“No,” I say, relieved to focus and release.
I sit with a pile of random things, forgotten. Sort, sort, sort. Out they go, mostly, A few I try to put aside.
“What’s that?” she asks. “Oh,” I say. I’ll take it. I toss it out. That was easy.
And I go one step out of my murkiness of mind, my tendency to go unconscious.
Grateful for a companion on this exploration, this cleansing. I remember why I do this. The help gives me structure with intention. I am supported in my wish for transformation.
For months—or is it years?— I roll along the same way, patterns of thought, of action, habits of mind. This is a comfortable dysfunction, keeping me distracted, even as I carry on. Oh, how habitual we humans are.
This room will be painted. Now I can see it is possible. It is refreshing. I feel free; light pours in the windows. Feels as if I’ve had a good day of work in the garden or the orchard.
We pile the throw-aways and giveaways in the hallway—out they go, no longer pulling down energy. No longer taking up precious space. Empty space vibrates with possibility.
The clearing before me of dust and clutter, frees up my mind. I suddenly see the other room I can switch to for my bedroom. Gradually it dawns on me, just like dawn. Slow but steady. I imagine myself in that other bedroom—the one that leads up to the haven on the third floor.
I am on fire, moving beds, dressers, clothes. I am making new space, keeping it clear of clutter, chasing any bits of dust out. This space welcomes me, “Ahh, you finally realized this is where you belong,” it says.
I lie in this bed, a different one, gaze out three windows on trees in the breeze. I sigh and sink deeper into the bed, grateful for the new perspective.
Then I tiptoe up the stairs to the newly painted haven in the trees. Fresh, warm, white paint, comfortable seat, and neat books, lights. Eyes close easily.
It is a mystery still unfolding.