Saturday morning. So much to do. Food to cook for my ex-husband’s 70th
birthday party—yes , I said ex. -I am helping his wife, Marilynn,
prepare for the celebration. Providing
rides for my son to and fro because he doesn’t yet have his car. Cleaning out and purging items that must go
now that I’ve made the decision to sell my home. Had to break an important date to support my
nephew tonight because I need to be ready for our very special Sacred Sunday
tomorrow. Wanting to visit with my
step-daughter but probably won’t be able to because of all the other stuff.
Whew!
Wow and holy cow!
When did this become my life? I find solace in knowing that although my
life often seems mildly insane, it does not resemble in any way my mother’s life.
Why does that please me? Because
my mother lived a simple life that was all about raising her seven
children. Honorable, yes, but once her
children left, it appears as if her life also ended. I cannot remember my mother doing anything
fun or creative that wasn’t attached to family.
Maybe that is okay (it was certainly more common in those days) but with
the richness of life, it isn’t what I want.
Actually I don’t really remember her smiling too often either. Maybe that was because in being so deathly
afraid of doctors and dentists, she allowed her teeth to rot and simply drank
away the pain. Oops didn’t know I was
going there.
Took a break from cooking to write this post because it was
burning to be put down – on computer keys. (Can’t say on paper anymore.) While contemplating what to write, I couldn’t
help but notice what a false sense of security four walls and possessions
create. As I sit in prayer to know the
strength and courage I require to release so many personal possessions, I can
see how much my identity has had to do with what surrounds me. It is a
distraction from that which is within me.
It is not that I own things of great value; I do own things of great
sentiment. Face it, after thirty years in a house with an attic, a basement and
a garage, I have THINGS, and these things have memories attached.
I have always loved all the windows in my home; it was one of
the things that I loved best about it.
Every day I take time to look out to the green that surrounds my home.
This green, in all its horticultural varieties,
lifts and comforts me. The strength of the aging maple right outside my living
room window as it pushes up the deck we built around it so many years ago; the
cedars that provide shade in the front; the oaks that provide some natural
privacy between us and our neighbors.
This green is home to a wide variety of birds, squirrels, and chipmunks
that I find great amusement in, as do my cats. (Yeah, sometimes it’s
hard.) When the winds blow, the sounds
created from the rustling of the leaves of these long-familiar trees is like a
salve that calms my nerves and keeps me grounded to Mama Earth.
All of this—the possessions, the house, and even the beauty
of Mother Nature—is outside of me and is conditional and temporary. This is why
it is a false sense of security. Homes
come and go; possessions come and go; trees fall to the ground and, yes, even
my body is a temporary house to this life expression, as is yours. My true security, my very real groundiness, and my sense of self can’t
be touched or altered in any way because it is that place within me where I
have learned to surrender and allow the grace of Life itself to be the beating
of my heart and my breath. So as busy as
I am today, I take time to write so this pure moment of self-expression isn’t
lost on baking cakes and making sausage and peppers. Life is precious, let's catch the
moments in the moment!
