Lately I’ve been lying in bed thinking of things to get rid of. I can’t recommend it enough. Great way to let go of the person you were going to be but have turned out not to be. Not to mention the person you were but are no more. Also, the person you thought you ought to be, but never really wanted to be.
In the evening, when Larry is available to obey my commands, I use him to make my dreams reality. Stacks of books to pass on and mounds of stuff for the thrift store are growing, as is the peacefulness and functionality of the room where I spend my days.
Bye-bye Priscilla the scholar, performer, painter, dancer, dresser-upper, crafter, collaborative theater facilitator, social conflict studier, biker, swimmer, hiker, traveler, etc., etc., etc. Bye-bye Priscilla who turned sick in college and still wants to finish what she started then. Bye-bye Priscilla who dropped out of graduate school sicker and thinks she’ll get back to those projects sometime, somehow. Bye-bye all past Priscillas, who are just fine being in the past and don’t need to be dragged along forever.
Bye-bye Priscilla who wants to impress and Priscilla who must prove herself. Bye-bye Priscilla who thinks, without admitting it, that owning cool interesting nice objects will make her somebody that matters. Bye-bye Priscilla who owns for the “ought” inside, for the person who gave her the thing she doesn’t need or really even want anymore, except to be for somebody else, some little bit, something she is not. Who has energy for that anymore? Good-bye Priscilla who wants to be everything, do everything, please everybody, who thinks if she works hard enough, she will do it. Good bye all.
Hello now.
Hello open space, possibility, stillness, listening. My life is small, real, good. My little bowl of porridge is not too hot and not too cold. I have three good chairs. I have places to lie down where I need them, and my bed is not too hard or too soft. There’s Larry working on his computer upstairs, despite the heat. There’s the lush world outside my windows and birds still singing about summer. There’s death coming and life renewing. New writing and art and friendship and quiet and truth calling. And enough space opening, here in my room, my home, my mind, my heart, for what is to breathe uncrowded and become what will be. My enthusiasm bubbles up, apparently eternal.
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