Spring Cleaning

I ran into a tipping point last week. I'd gone shopping to replace my walking shoes, and since they were on sale, I bought two new pairs, what the heck. I also picked up new shoes for my tone class; the walking shoes allow too much lateral movement and are too cushy for correct foot placement when lifting weights, and I've been having trouble with my knees. (I DO long for the days when I ran around all the time in a pair of moccasins and wore them until there was a hole in the leather bottoms of the shoes - yes, in winter in Minnesota. I was WAY cool. - and my feet had no complaints.)

I somewhat resignedly brought my haul home, and up to my closet. I took one look at the room and realized that until and unless I did some reorganizing, the boxes were going to have to sit in the middle of the floor. *sigh*

It was time and past time to clean. When I want to tidy up for company I have a habit of picking up the things lying about and shoving them into the nearest available cranny, figuring I'll find them proper homes later. It's then a matter of out of sight, out of mind, until I reach the point, as I did last week, where all the crannies are full of miscellaneous homeless items, and proper homes for things can't be found because the proper storage space is interspersed with items that really need to be on their way out the door.

So, I picked a free afternoon, and started emptying shelves and going through bins. I was in the proper frame of mind, and was able to convince myself to get rid of the extra sets of sheets, and, AND, the almost worn-out socks. (I really don't know why part of me thinks it is necessary to keep socks until they develop actual holes. Once they get see-through spots on the toes and heels, I don't wear them any more anyways.)

My closet isn't THAT big, and just two hours later, all the things had homes. The back bedroom held a stack of giveaway stuff, and I had an old hamper filled with items that had reached the end of their useful lifespan, ready for the trash.

The next morning, I walked in the room, looked around, and something in me breathed a bit more easily. By putting my closet in proper order, I'd also tidied up something inside of me. For me, letting go of things which once held value but now no longer serve me leaves room for growth. 

And new shoes.

Holding Unlike Things

Today, I've been working on holding space inside for all the feelings. Again.

My momentary victory last week of hope over depression didn't automagically make the dark feelings evaporate, more's the pity. (Though it absolutely managed to squish them for a few days. I rather liked that part.)

But as the week went on, the feelings unsquished themselves, as feelings always do when I squish them, and I found myself once again trying to make sense of my place in this world.

This week, again, the news fed my personal gray cloud. More shootings. War. Recession. 

This week, again, the beauty outside whispered words of hope and renewal and goodness.

I am still working on the concept that all the feelings are ok. Me, I just want to feel the ones that make me happy and connected to Life. I don't want to have to acknowledge that the anger and depression have a valuable message for me. I just want them to go away.

But wishing the 'undesirable' feelings away hasn't worked for me yet, so this week I've been trying to hold them, to listen to the message they're trying to convey. Holding them doesn't mean I let them take all the space, as they like to do when left to their own devices. Holding them means I give them some space, but also leave space for the balancing emotions, the ones I like better.

I can know that all is not well AND I can know that there is beauty in today. One does not negate or replace the other. Both are true.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, I need the balance. All light would drive me crazy just as surely as all darkness does. I need to breathe out in order to have space to breathe in. 

Balance. I'll keep working on it.

P. S. I know I've written some version of these words before, more than several times. But clearly, I haven't finished internalizing the lesson. And, perhaps, just perhaps, someone who will read this also needs to hear the lesson again. I tried several times to get me to write on another topic this week, but kept getting stuck after the first few words. The ideas on this page are the ones that wanted out, so out they are. (It always surprises me when that happens, but I'm working to learn not to fight the muses.) Thank you for taking this path with me once again.

Happy Easter!

There was a piece by Esau Mcaulley in the New York Times this week about the beauty and the magic of Easter that spoke to my heart.

He wrote:

"Isn't it easier to believe that everyone who loves us has some secret agenda? That racism will forever block the creation of what Martin Luther King Jr. called the beloved community? That the gun lobby will always overwhelm every attempt at reform? That poverty is a fact of human existence? Despair allows us to give up our resistance and rest awhile."

Esau didn't stop there, in the darkness. He went on to write of the way Jesus "overflows with forgiveness" in his last hours. A few paragraphs later, he concluded:

"That indestructibility of hope might be the central and most radical claim of Easter - that three days after Jesus was killed, he returned to his disciples physically and that made all the difference. Easter, then, is not a metaphor for new beginnings; it is about encountering the person who, despite every disappointment we experience with ourselves and with the world, gives us a reason to carry on."

Indestructible hope. A reason to carry on. 

[deep, cleansing, breath]

Somehow, he read my mood this week. 

My days have been good. This is one of my favorite weeks of the year to be outside, with the air smelling of new life from the trees and flowers, which are growing so quickly you can almost watch the buds turn to blossoms. I've been happy to take the dog out morning and evening, turning my face to the warmth of the sun (when it's out), soaking in the beauty all around us as we do our turn around the block.

But then evening comes, and I stop my doings for the day. It is then that Despair has been seductively beckoning to me. It whispers into the quiet of my evenings, saying "Why bother? Nothing lasts. Who cares, including you, if you get better at art, or reclaim some portion of your mediocre skill on the piano keyboard? Come, sit with me, and we will stare blankly into the night, waiting for the inevitable decay of the world to make its way to your doorstep. Once it arrives, I will help you take one last step into nothingness."

I recognize this voice - Libby and I talked about it. It is the voice of Fear; the voice of the one who tries to talk you into giving up on the days you have. I have been pushing back against it, but the struggle is real.

Today, Esau's meditation helped me to break its spell.

Evil indisputably Is, but Good also Exists.

I can choose to listen to the voice of Good. To channel the determination Libby showed me before cancer ended her life. When she came face to face with the void, she did a damn good job of ignoring its wiles; she did her best to live all of her days. 

I have today. As she and I concluded in our discussions, today is the only day I have. 

Today, I will listen to the voice of Indestructible Hope, follow her path, and choose to live.

Bed Bugs: Continued Cleanup

I went back to Kevin's place to continue bed bug cleanup this past Monday.

I had firm instructions from the building manager, supplemented by my own extensive web research, on what needed to be done to help next week's heat treatment be a success.

It was pretty straightforward, if not entirely rational on her part. (Her research wasn't quite as thorough as mine, but I was in no place to argue.) All contaminated items had to go. Everything upholstered. All cardboard boxes. All stacks of paper. His stick collection. Pretty much everything in his bedroom. All clothing needed to be gathered in trash bags, so I can take them to the laundromat and run them through the dryer the day the heat treatment is done. 

Except for the part where we had to get his heavy recliner out of the room and out the door, it was tiring, but not physically difficult work. Just a lot of trips, using a cart, to the dumpster. But, it was emotionally wrenching.

Kevin doesn't have much. He considers the sticks he picks up as he wanders the streets to be art. His collection of black satchels and rolling bags, each emblazoned in white Sharpie with his name, were hard-found, and traveled many miles with him as he walked the streets. That recliner was the only comfortable seat in the apartment, and it was in pretty darn good shape. What looked like stray sofa cushions to the casual observer, he had hoped to use as a bed for himself should he ever have guests spend the night.

All gone, all sent to the dumpster.

With each trip down the elevator, his shoulders fell a little further. His eyes started to glaze over. He popped a beer, then two, despite my presence. (He generally doesn't drink when I'm around.) His movements slowed, he was near tears, his heart was breaking. 

One of the last things I needed to do, so the last of the cardboard boxes could leave, was to clean out his pantry. He's been stashing cans there, from the local food pantry, ever since he moved in, but since he has food aplenty these days, the cans of vegetables and potatoes have gone past their use-by dates. Because the shelves were full of expired goods, the current deliveries were still sitting in their boxes.

By this time he was beyond making decisions; could barely muster up the effort to scoff at me for tossing cans only a few months past their use-by dates. (Truth be told, in my own pantry, I use food like that all the time, but I know the food pantries, sadly, can't take them.)

Feeling like a total heel, I cleaned off his shelves anyways, throwing away box after box of 'perfectly good' cans. It did help that there were some so clearly past their dates, I could toss them with a clear conscience. I emptied the boxes of new food onto the shelves, threw out the cardboard, and called it a day.

I went down to the building manager's private bathroom, and changed clothes with a heavy heart. I'd done the right thing; but it didn't feel good to strip him of his treasures, necessary though it was.

The saving grace is that he's not quite back to square one. I managed to convince the manager to let him keep his precious books and the two stuffed bears he found on the streets. The bugs don't live in books, and the bears can be heat-treated to rid them of vermin. And, I was able to save his plants by taking them back to my place and setting them out in the backyard. (Bed bugs don't actually like to live on plants, and a few days outside will convince any strays to seek out better lodging.)

From here, he can and will rebuild. He still has a home.