Have you been sorting out and letting go recently? I know it’s a nightmare for some people when the time comes to face the chaos of accumulated possessions. But what a relief it is to live more simply without so much stuff.
When I look back through my own life the only thing constant is change! I’ve lived in four different countries so far, and in the end it just gets ridiculous to keep carting things across the world.
Here’s an extract from my Soul Journey book, Migration to the Heartland, where I describe the process I call “sorting the seeds” because it’s more than physical stuff we’re sorting, we’re also defining who we are now when we sift through our possessions and let go of what we no longer need. This is part of the adventure of becoming more authentic: this is me; that’s not me; this I need, that I don’t need.
“Just in case the peace and abundance should prove too much I had a little challenge to contend with – the attic!
I had already disposed of many of my belongings, but those that remained were stored here in the Highlands. The dilemma of how to sort my stuff preoccupied and teased me. My treasure was fifty miles away, guarded by an unfriendly dragon. I had no transport and nowhere to do the sorting. It was midwinter and the days were very short. I could afford to transport a few cartons to New Zealand and I had to get rid of the rest. I had no idea how I was going to accomplish this task.
A few days after Christmas, Gem drove me along the coast and deposited me at the house which had been my home for nine months. It was a mild, damp day with weak sunshine and I stood outside the house for a few moments smelling the farmyard aromas of the next-door croft mixed with the tang of seaweed from the sea loch below. The land was stripped to essentials; a few deft strokes sketched the mountains and the loch in shades of grey and mauve. Four years ago I’d fallen in love with the view of sea loch and mountains and sat in inspiration before them writing my first book. I’d explored the myth of Eros and Psyche and set out on my journey towards conscious loving. Now, like Psyche, I was being challenged to “sort the seeds.”
I climbed the ladder to the attic and pushed up the trap door. My heart fell: there was much more than I had remembered; a great pile of books, records, clothes, photographs, papers, crockery, camping gear and other miscellania. I had to sort this now into what was essential for my new life and what I no longer needed. I had to be quick too because I didn’t want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary in this cold, gloomy space where I wasn’t welcome.
Conflicting desires and impulses warred within me. A vision of traveling light with just one bag danced before my eyes. I could go cold turkey and get rid of everything, but if I was to let go I wanted to know what I was letting go of. My goal was to integrate the old self into the new rather than disown it. Besides, there were old friends here – records, books, journals, clothes, photographs …. I started to unpack the boxes and in a very short time had created chaos: clothes in big colourful piles, boxes of books and papers spilling onto the floor.
I tried on some of the clothes. I’d bought this salmon-pink silk shirt for the launch of the Leadership manual – how on Earth had I got into it? And here was my winter coat, which I’d survived without now for three winters. It had that smart-woman-about-town-executive look that would be silly in Nelson but it was warm and comforting all the same. There were high-heeled shoes, which I’d never wear again, and hardly worn cowboy boots. Everything I picked up was shrouded with memories and soon the attic was jostling with places, people and events which spun threads of emotion around me. This was indeed the dragon’s lair and I knew that the ghost of my former self was here amongst all this rubble. I had to find her and set her free. My rising panic at the enormity of the task made it more difficult to contact my gut feelings and make decisions. It was like sorting the effects of a dead person, only that person was me and I pinched myself to make sure I was still alive. I wanted to travel light, to shed whatever was not essential. But how was I to know what was essential and what wasn’t?
When Gem mercifully arrived to carry me back to the ongoing Christmas festivities, I stuffed piles of photographs and some of the journals into plastic bags and fled. Now our midwinter feast with its earthy laziness was interspersed with detours into the past. With the journals and photographs as evidence I was a detective on the trail of self-discovery. I wanted to know what myths I was carrying about myself and I felt ready to face the truth.
As Gem and I sat before the roaring fire that night I said, “I’ve been thinking how liberating it would be to let go of all the books and papers in the attic and reduce my personal possessions to one change of clothes and a notebook … Or no, not even a notebook … What if I give up my studious life of reading and writing and start looking for truth instead in the people and daily events that flow naturally through my life? What a radical departure that would be to live in such simplicity. And what a challenge! ”
Gem looked back at me impassively.
“I’m fantasizing dragging everything down to the shoreline of the loch and creating a big bonfire to burn my past life. I could even burn the book I’m so diligently writing.”
“Why?” Gem asked, poker faced.
“Then I’d be really free from attachments. I’d have a clean slate, with all the past wiped out. Get rid of all my karma. Boom!”
I sat for some time contemplating this purification by fire. As I watched the flames leaping I experienced moment by moment the conflict between my desire to let go of all attachments and sit gloriously emptied in the present, and my identification with my history.
“If I let go completely and razed my old life to the ground, maybe I’d be catapulted into an expansion of consciousness, a lightness of being, a spaciousness …. Too many possessions and attachments to the past cloud the new reality I’m reaching for, make me feel cramped and congested …. On the other hand if I let go of everything I might become so insubstantial that I’ll float away.” I was remembering the Peace Walk and my insecurity at having no home base. “If I put a match to this motley pile of possessions and memories will I walk away victorious or foolish?”
I looked at Gem for an answer and she looked straight back at me.
A few days after New Year I returned to the attic to continue sifting and sorting. In the end I decided against the fire. It was tempting to think of standing so shriven of the past, yet I knew now that I didn’t want to destroy my history. I wanted to appreciate it for the treasure house it was. So I sorted the books and packed those I most needed. I took CD’s, tapes and stereo. The remaining books and records I left with friends to collect another time. I did decide I would read and then burn my journals, for they contained stories I had told once and didn’t need to tell again. After I’d read them I would remake the stories as I re-created myself.
After two days in the attic “sorting the seeds” I stuffed as much I could into Gem’s car and fled. I couldn’t bear to spend any more time in that cold, gloomy space sorting the debris of the past from its treasures. I’d been watching a movie of my life for days, an intense emotional roller coaster of a movie: dismay tipping over into amazement, shame side by side with admiration. In the end what I felt was a deep sobriety. I carried the parcel of journals under my arm. This was my life so far. I wanted to honour it. As I closed the hatchway into the attic I saw the cobwebs lit up by the last rays of the wintry sun and knew that I was leaving behind several veils of illusion.
From “Migration to the Heartland: A Soul Journey in Aotearoa” See
http://www.awholenewworld.net/books.htm
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