(Ed. note: This is from a regular contributor. I have posted it without editing.)
Yesterday I ended up having family time with a relative, she picked me up for dinner and we started driving. And as we started down the road we asked about each others' days. We start at surface.
"I'm cleaning" she tells me.
"I'm cleansing" I share with her.
And she tells me the details of how she went through all of her containers, but can't let any of them go.
And I tell her the details of how much fiber and thistle I've taken, the wheat and dairy I'm trying not to eat.
We speak, exhaustedly, abstractly, in wide swoops. All through dinner, our conversation flies in circles around these two topics. Finially, on our way home side by side in the dark, she says again how difficult it has been to clean out her home.
I look at her face. Shadow migrates over contour, and somehow I am able to hear her for the first time that evening.
"Well, when you clean you home, it's not just stuff." I say, "It's a metaphore".
"Exactly!" she replies, relieved.
And we have the real conversation. A conversation about fear and release. Letting go of the things that provide a faux sense of safety. Saying no to gifts that are not gifts, security that secures nothing, sustanence that doesn't sustain you.
Posted by JMW at 10:48 PM
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