Lowlands low

Disappointment happens; it isn't unusual. I just don't want to lose hours of what could be good time to it. So when I sat down to do some writing or editing this morning and it didn't feel right, I didn't fight with myself. I was feeling yesterday's disappointment, and I was feeling disappointed with myself for not getting into a groove with the current small part of my big writing project.

Instead, I took the energy that I did have and worked all over my house. Spiritually and mentally speaking, I wanted to get rid of negative feelings, so I found an analogous physical activity: culling unwanted items. This was partially inspired by seeing a friend's progress in this direction yesterday. Her neatly tied, lumpy, bags of clothes looked like clarity and calm to me.

I worked till sweat covered my skin. I went through books, clothes, household wares, just stuff. It feels good to be letting go of stuff I do not need. It isn't even bad stuff, broken stuff, or un-wantable stuff; I simply do not need it. Sometimes it hurts because, once some of those clothes fit and pleased me. So often what stops me is the notion that someone could want something I'm giving away. The control obsessed part of me wants to find that person and give them the stuff individually, instead of letting the tides and deities of thrift bring the right owner to my discarded treasures. Six bags later, I felt a very positive sort of empty, but so dirty, dusty, sticky, sweaty, sore. On to part of two of the process.

Any action undertaken with focus and intent can become more than it appears on the surface, and so cleaning my bathroom and showering became a reclaiming of space and body. Attachments were washed away along with garage debris, fuzzies, and cat hair. Anxieties and soreness and hurt feelings went away together. Now, I'm taking a break from demolishing a pile of clothing chaos into wearable order. My partner keeps playing bits of evocative folk and maritime music in the other room for his work and the afternoon's first boom of thunder punctuates. Mysteries crop up in other tabs and bits of iridescence shine through death. It is time to work again and enjoy the calm I am creating.