Inverse proportion

I don't typically spend a whole lot of time watching television, but in the wake of a hard ten-day stretch of travel, work, and sleeplessness, and in fairly typical summer heat, I didn't have the energy the last few days to do much else. 

Of course, the most striking visuals came from news reports of the Texas flooding (and, to a lesser degree, the flooding in Pennsylvania and the southern tier of New York). This mass movement of water is awe-inspiring (admittedly, more easy to appreciate when seen from a distance). There are few human constructs that can withstand such an onslaught and, yes, I find that a relief. Nature is ever so much more powerful than we are. 

The other striking visuals, and the ones that seemed almost surreal in light of the floods, wildfires, and other weather extremes, came from advertising. Having narrowed most of my meager belongings down to seven small boxes, it was remarkable that the ads I saw over the weekend were primarily for some of the largest purchases that individuals or families can possibly make -- enormous SUVs, RVs, motor boats and pontoon/party boats, decks/patios/porches, in-ground pools and spas, roofing...you get the picture. Admittedly, it's that time of year. If these things haven't sold yet, I suppose retailers need to make last-ditch sales pitches. But I tried to imagine my seven boxes, tucked up on the back seat of an SUV, or in a built-in closet in an RV. In a corner of the patio under the eaves of that new roof. Belowdecks (and getting a bit damp) in a cabin cruiser. 

There's a certain manic quality about these ads, a certain distracting "everything's fine and will be better once you own this heavy, grounding item". My life has always been in inverse proportion to the American dream, so I guess it makes sense that as I let go of pounds, the rest of the country is being urged to accumulate more tons. But it does make you wonder, will the moment ever come when the entertainment and advertising industries shift gears, when our whole society shifts gears? When will we understand that our whole set of expectations must be turned upside down, and that we need to do it from within (not wait for forces outside of us)? This is a moment both terrifying and truly exciting. As ever, I think that looking directly at it is preferable to peering through a screen of belongings. But blessings to all of us, wherever we are on that curve. This summer will force us to grow, whether we are ready or not.

More Letting Go

Just a few more notes about these last two weeks.  Then I will, ahem, let it go for now, although I suspect that there's a whole lot more to unpack, at least figuratively.

I did not watch or read hardly any news while I was gone, so it was true time off in that respect. It was hard to see the footage of the floods in west Texas, and I was reminded of another thing to be thankful for. I had time to do the grueling sorting and decision-making work and some of the emotional re-stabilizing. Most people in a flood or wildfire or hurricane or tornado situation have no time to grab anything but (if they are lucky) their purse or wallet or briefcase. Forget the agonizing questions about, "Should I keep this?" and "Should I give away that?" Everything else blows away in the wind, or floats downriver, or burns up, toxic or not, important or not, in one big stew. I am thankful that I could do this chore before it was done for me by the elements, never mind that my boxes would have fit into one modest-sized closet.

A little more on something I said yesterday. It may be the fact that I have received so little recognition or praise or acknowledgment in this lifetime that I have occasionally needed to go through my things (even just to pack them up again) to help me define myself. In America, telling people you have a passion for English church music was akin to speaking Greek -- it usually elicited sort of a sad, pathetic, "what on earth is she talking about?"-type response. I think I held onto programs from English cathedrals, and articles about the recent entrance of girls and women into that world, and maps, and memorabilia of my trips, in order to prove that my life was real, that it had importance, that I meant something. Getting rid of much of this doesn't mean that I have changed my mind -- it means that I know in my core that I am important, and now (in this transition of the ages) I don't need to carry around the heavy proof. But I've done so much of my own spiritual work over the decades -- this morning, I feel particularly for the women who survive these events and haven't had time to process things as thoroughly. The loss of their mother's sewing box or their grandmother's tea set or their childhood memorabilia may be far more devastating on a deep level than we can see. The questions about "Who am I without these things?" may be even more deeply wrenching, and I hold them in the light.

One last thing today, and this may sound a little weird. About the third day into this process, I started to think of myself as my own daughter, or granddaughter, or niece, or family friend. I pretended that I (Liz) had passed away, and I was keeping just those things that -- from that slight distance -- seemed truly important. Some of the things that I held onto earlier in the week, I let go of by Monday. I haven't died (and even if I had, we are eternal beings who take our soul realities into our next incarnations!) but looking at the physical materials from the standpoint of a loving younger version of myself made it easier to do the work. I kept reminding myself, we are heading into such a completely different reality that traveling light will finally be an asset, not a peculiar oddity.

Today started with torrential rains, even here. Blessing to all of you, in whatever manifestation of "letting go" you are living!

Letting Go, 2025-style, con't

A little more on the intense process I just went through.

When I first opened my storage space, I had one of the first panic attacks of my life. I mean, the absurdity of it all. The schlepping of boxes from storage space to storage space, from basement to attic, from state to state. I burst into tears, said, "I cannot own any of this any more," and would gladly have called some kind of hauler to bring it all to a dump. But then a friend arrived to help me, I pulled myself together, and started triage on the books. In a sense, they are the easiest, and libraries have book sales. Then the clothes that are literally not worth shipping, so you are glad to give them to people who can use them. That's where I started.

I spent every afternoon except the Fourth of July and Sunday at the storage space, and then brought all the papers and memorabilia to a friend's house, where I sorted (yes!) from about 3:30 to 8:30 every morning. The papers are the worst, aren't they? The letters accepting me into a private kindergarten, St. Agnes School and Smith College. My official SAT scores. My scribblings of Herbert Howells research, and memorabilia from my trips to England and my efforts to enter the world of English church music. Notes from friends through the years. All, now, recycled. I mean, even in the unlikely event that someone might ask me to continue on with a study of Howells, it probably isn't close enough to my current focus on the Goddess that I would say yes. I did the best that I could to add constructively to the field that I still have an immense passion for, but at 69, it is not my future. 

OMG. My mother's 1960's-era sewing box. Mind you, my mother hated sewing (because her mother loved it, perhaps). It is a gold mine of threads, darning wool, needles, buttons, iron-on patches, you name it. But I've only barely ever used it myself, or had it open to the air and in my space. It has now gone to a situation where someone will be thrilled by the bounty. Ditto, music CD's of English church music and obscure cookbooks. Some choral music scores, new age books and oracle cards. A few family things were sent to family.

Because this "letting go" wasn't just of the physical things. It was the letting go of several dreams. Of course, that I would get to England and change the world of cathedral music. That I would someday live in a big old house and have a huge studio/library space in which to paint, write, and listen to (or eventually compose?) music. That someday someone would want to write about me or use the bits and bobs of my life in their own creative way. If these haven't happened by the time I am 69, either they won't happen at all, or they will happen in a way that is literally beyond my ken, and/or in a manner that does not allow me to carry much. And to the extent that I found comfort in looking at my things and "getting" who I am, I need to start "getting it" without props!

I will probably continue with this blog, but going forward my purpose will be less about "creativity" (making beauty in various forms) and more about "embodiment". How do I embody the Goddess? Think like Her? Express what I think She might want to express if She were in my situation? I can do these things without researching in books, painting oil paintings, or putting CD's into obsolete CD players.

My most precious belongings from the past, plus a few that might help me in the future, made the "cut". Gosh, I don't even like that word! Let's say, made it through the re-birth canal. I was so proud that seven carefully-packed small boxes actually made it easily into a friend's car, and thence to the post office. What had been unmanageable became manageable, over the course of a grueling week. I couldn't have done it without friends, in a city and bus system I didn't know, or perhaps a few years from now. It was the right time to do this.

I'm still recovering from my over 24-hour bus and train journey back east, and will probably need several more days of extra sleep, and several more posts in which to "let go" of this experience and move forward!

 

Letting Go, 2025-style

Hi again. I know a few of you might have been wondering, why the uncharacteristic almost two-week silence? If you worried just a little bit, thanks (!) -- but somehow or other, I keep going, don't I? 

OK, so last fall when I left Duluth, I left about 24 boxes in storage. Some of this is stuff that has basically been in storage most of my life, and had about a year earlier been sent out to me. Some of it was summer clothing, winter boots, etc. And some of it (of course) was books, mostly on women's spirituality, some on England and English church music, my favorite romance novels, etc. Frankly, perched back on the east coast, I couldn't even remember what all there was.

At the time, here was the concept -- that once I found my (more) permanent home, I'd either pay to have all the boxes shipped to me, or I'd make the trip to deal with them. But of course, this is my life we are talking about! I haven't yet found a permanent home and, indeed, have felt profoundly stuck. I woke up one morning about three weeks ago and thought, I need to go out immediately to deal with this stuff. So I made train and bus reservations, and did it. I just returned to Schenectady yesterday.

There is so much to say, and I am so profoundly exhausted by this experience, that I won't try to talk about it today. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. But suffice it to say, seven small boxes are en route back to me. Seven. I let go, big time. In a nutshell, absolutely every item, piece of paper, book, etc. went through the triage of only one question: do I need this going forward to do the Goddess's work? If not, the item found a new home.

Clearly I needed to get rid of this weight (and there are still several boxes here that need the same treatment) before I can possibly move on, and I am grateful that I had the courage to do this, the help from friends, and the strength to face this task. 

After two weeks of not sleeping on trains and spending half the night each night sorting through stuff, I slept nine hours last night, and am still too bleary to write any more. But letting go, 2025-style, was an important event. Yup, it was.