d sinclair ’08(no bibliomancy today, the current cosmic conditions will reveal all, without any help from me)
I was going to write about how the week’s activities have shown me how strong I am, about how I’ve overcome many of my doubts, as a writer, as a woman and mother and as a person. I actually did write a long essay on how great it is to be finally writing my book, about being busy getting my home ready to be sold and getting the car fixed and finally cutting ties with the father of my child. I wrote that through it all I’ve been fine, I’ve been stoic and resolute and positive. That I’ve maintained my composure and calm and kept the faith. It was all lies, so I deleted it.
The truth is that I’m not at all positive about the house being sold – the children and I believed this was our permanent home, that we’d make it our own. Today when the ‘stylist’ came to the house and told me that it needed ‘such a lift’ I felt as saggy and disappointed as I ever have. Apparently I have to change so much about the way it is I might as well just move out and let the experts come in and do the ‘make over’. After she left I stood in the kitchen and cried.
It was like letting one of my ex husband’s friends in to the house – he’s an architect and the sort of people he prefers the company of are likely to critique everything they see. In an objective, arty and intellectual way, of course. Nothing personal. (believe me I just didn’t need to be reminded of my ex husband, his friends or the house I left behind to gain this supposed freedom)
I know its silly to get upset, that it’s just a service offered by the real estate agent in the interests of getting a better price on the house, and it really isn’t personal. Its only personal to me.
A house is an extension of soul, in a way – which is how feng shui can have such an effect – it has an energy which is intimately connected with the energy of its inhabitants. We get a ‘feel’ for homes and they have ‘vibes’. This house has been loved and cared for like everything else in my life – and its beautiful – so to have a stranger come in and tell me how much more work there is to do on it is a blow.
A lesson learned, I guess. Not to be too attached, not to get invested in an egoic idea of home and soul and the care of it.
The same goes for the rest of what’s been going on around here. While on one level I’ve found I can rely on inner resources, there’s a current of anger and fear and loneliness which has some power over me still. My chest hurts like a handful of me has been pulled out so I know I’m grieving.
I tend to try and distract myself and to deny what I’m feeling. I tell myself that my inner peace can’t be destroyed by outer events, by other’s words, or lack thereof or by anything short of an act of god. I want that to be true. On the other hand, I’m so darn tired of having to be brave and strong and manage all of it on my own, I can understand why people turn to religion. There are days when I just want to hand my whole life over to a higher power and relinquish all responsibility for it.
But there’s still hope in the here and now, and I’m going to continue to work together with that higher power, taking responsibility for my Self, myself. I’ll work with my heart to heal what’s hurting, and with my soul to have a home, where ever that may be next. I still have choices.
Choices are worth a lot.