I am reading a book on how to tidy your home. I’ve made great progress in getting rid of things that do not bring me joy. Many items of clothing and many books have been donated. Also decorative items and kitchenware that didn’t pass the test of bringing me joy. And so I am learning to let go.
Writing has been an avenue of joy for me, big-time. In the middle of loss, I begin keeping a website and writing there on a daily basis. There I mourned the loss of my child and husband. There I chronicled the snail-like process of returning to a new normal.
Today my old cedar house is decluttered. Mere joy and silence gather round me quietly, quietly. I know what I like and that is worth more than a houseful of inert companions with no meaningful connections to them.
This job of decluttering is never ending. As long as I walk the earth, I will be discarding things that do not bring me joy so I can appreciate the simple life of a pilgrim passing through.
And if all else fails, if I have nothing left, I’ll keep the sky. That sky that enfolds me like a pale blue blanket and at times, like a death shroud. It changes infinitely, as do I. It contains everything, as do I.
My own heart is made of rubble and renewal, sand and diamonds, scratchy wool and velvet, clods of earth and rivers of light. I pass my heart onto you in words typed on the screen. And I realize I am here for just a moment. All of life is the eternal moment of love. All of it.