Where did the energy go?
A short tale of unexpected dissonance and learning to accept and trust it.
I no longer wanted to be a homeowner; gave away mucho, mucho stuff, and stored the rest. The items I chose to place in storage were really a litmus test of things I’ve cherished over the last 21 years. Such as, you may ask?
The only way I can fully characterize what was closest to my heart, while adorning walls and filling corners, would be to call them gifts of nature’s bounty. Nature’s bounty? You really want more information?
Okey-doke. Several gorgeous multi-pronged racks of deer antlers shed by bucks passing through in the spring. Each time I found a rack of antlers, it was like Christmas and Hanukkah combined – whoopee! Stones and rocks that caught my attention while walking in the woods; couldn’t take my eyes off them, so home they came. Oh, and Tugboat Jan’s meddle was really put to the test ferrying home ALL the many nature-sculpted cedar sticks and branches from my forest frolics. Certainly not forgetting the glass bowl of fool’s gold, collected one by one by one, exploring all those gravel roads over the years. Little gold specks surprisingly peeking out from dark stones. (Such a wonderful reminder of hidden light, everywhere.) And let’s not forget the wall hangings made by artisans from natural fibers….
Living with the woods, but inside my home. A source of wholeness for me in those moments when I needed reminding of something larger than myself.
ALL these pieces of nature’s bounty were lovingly wrapped by a friend and placed in storage for 3 months until a renovated duplex opened up. (Sidebar: I can call someone else now when something breaks or needs to be resuscitated. OMG, what a relief!)
In the new place, still-filled boxes are sequestered in the kitchen. My cranky knee is querulous about unpacking and the cherished wall hangings hang out in a deep closet. (Sorry, just couldn’t resist the alliteration.) Been here 3 weeks and, well, the walls are still bare. The spacious corners are yet to be occupied, all my sticks and stones, and antlers, also hidden away in the light-filled kitchen. What the ….?
They-don’t-want-to-come-back-out. Nope. They don’t. Nothing is calling me from those boxes saying “I need light, I need light. Please let me out!” Nothing. Some of the beautiful nature-sculpted sticks are bundled in a kitchen corner and I find myself avoiding looking at them. Deep breath. What a conundrum. Truly.
Recall Gollum (from Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring) desperately intoning “my precious, my precious” in reference to the power of The Ring? Certainly, without any desire to emulate Gollum, I too, would, in former moments, refer to my interior surroundings of nature’s bounty as “my precious.” But now, the aura of “precious” energy has disappeared. Poof. Gone. No real resonance except a nostalgic one, which does not in the least induce me to bring all these objects back into the light.
What to do?
Just accept being in a liminal place. Wait, what’s a “liminal?” I’ve done my dictionary due diligence and am prepared to answer that question:
Liminal - occupying a position on both sides of a boundary or threshold."I was in the liminal space between past and present"
That would be me. Again, what to do?
Nothing. Wait. Trust. The light will return in its own time and in its own unique form. Meanwhile, I have brilliant vistas of trees that can be viewed from all my windows. Very alive. Even with my bare walls and empty corners, looking at the trees through the windows brings a sense of peace. For the moment, that’s enough…
If your heart and funny-bone are nurtured by This Being Human Thing, please share with others.
Your dear nature finds will always snuggle back to nature. But they're here now if you need them.
I have a friend who started jettisoning her belongings six years ago, knowing she wanted to begin life again in Ireland. She has lived for two years in a house. The first year and during the pandemic, her youngest daughter, in her late 20s lived with her. Now she is pregnant and married in Illinois. Still she has more boxes to go through. She closed a business and two houses. Her's and her parents in the past 6 years. She's tired. She wants to find her new home. Finishing up one part of our life to move to another part is exhausting. The older we get, the more exhausting. A therapist once told me, if we are authentic, we need different things in different parts of our lives. You are a descriptive wise woman. What wonders you have found on your previous walks. My place is more of indoor memories. My mother thought I had too much on my walls. It was "too busy." Yet, I have friends come in who ooh and ahh. So many things that trigger their minds and hearts. Congratulate yourself on your latest transformation. It will be delightful to choose again, when you feel so inspired.