Three weeks ago I sat upon my paint-splattered footstool with dozens of books splayed across the carpet. I’d previously maneuvered my way amongst tangled clusters, clearing paths within my self-declared sanctuary (room), a shared office/yoga/meditation space. Now, I crouched bug-eyed, overwhelmed amongst dense and dog-eared piles. At a certain point amidst the chaos, I rattled and paused,...perceiving all these titles as proof of moments not “lived out.”
Surely our self-help guides and how-to publications do not define us, whether digested or dust-garnered. Yet our collections and subsequent clutter reveal the tangible and intangible things we hold onto, oftentimes in unaware clenching desperation. Smaller stacks of references aside, stockpiling objects and information for possible future needs distract us from bringing attention to the present moment’s calling. Sentimental memorabilia carries a weight of its own. Unable to relinquish its initial emotional power over us, chucking beloved objects becomes mightily painful.
Amassing things (stuff) which momentarily propels us forward can tragically set us back and place a veil over ourselves. We are begged to reflect and ask “Who am I NOW, within THIS day?” and in the scope of this accumulation, “What am I now able to part with?” As we continue to collect without a focused sense of meaning, sans an understanding of intent or purpose, we lose discernment, prioritization be damned. But, we’re IN there, in the muck and rubble, in the words and spaces in-between.
Recently, I spent time with two endearing (and enduring) friends from my early mothering years. Both women have a keen creative eye where recycling and repurposing items comprise a second nature. Deeply gifted with an acute awareness of planetary and environmental fragility, they also possess insight as to the sanctity of things. Their gentle temperaments help to unearth my own convictions, and provide a groundswell of reassuring testimony to life’s inherent Abundance.
“The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” ~ Henry David Thoreau
Cindy Weinstein, degreed in special education, with training primarily for the deaf pre-school and elementary populations, is our ground reporter from Medford, N.J. She spends her spare time musing life’s “magic” as it unfolds, while dabbling in yoga, journalistic writing and poetry. She cites tap dancing as a serious bucket-list item.
From Medford, N.J.:
Nothing’s Missing
By Cindy Weinstein