I am packing up and preparing to move out more stuff. Things. Mostly books. Again. Last year I got rid of tons of books and I could easily do that again, with a few hundred more thrown in for good measure. I cannot remember what I am writing these days, Diary, so please forgive me if I keep repeating myself. You know, maybe I actually need to be repetitive in order to do everything that needs doing now. There is a lot of heartbreak in this process and it is mostly because of the stuff that happened, but I am finding some weird kind of joy about releasing even more of my crap. I mean, really, go figure.
I am keeping only the books that I simply cannot bear to be without and am hoping that that does not measure more than a couple of hundred books. It seems insane that any one person could have a use or be attached to hundreds of books, but with more than a thousand and a half to get rid of, I guess the percentage is not too bad. I am also keeping most of my arts, crafts and sewing stuff. Oh, and the yarns and needles and hooks.
Anyway, I am taking a break from the whole emotional mess. As to be expected, I am finding lots of interesting things and especially papers, notes mostly, amongst the books and other stuff. So, if I have already shared this stuff, just, well, just pass it by.
This is a conversation that I had a few years ago during the winter holiday season, in one of our satellite stores, in a mall, which I fondly remember as being the closest thing on the planet to being in the belly of the beast. When people would ask me where I worked, I told them in the belly of the beast. Interesting that no one ever figured out that that meant the mall, but I guess the perspective and tenor is different on each side of the counter, yes?
So, there was a nice woman and I helped her choose several items. As I was checking out her purchases, I went on autopilot and shared the return policy and...
Hang on to your receipt, and keep the xxxxxx sealed, just in case you would need to exchange it.
No problem, all of this is being mailed out this week.
Yes, it is getting close to the deadline for mailing packages, isn't it.
Oh, we don't really care if any of this gets there before Christmas. Besides, we're not even sure one guy is in the country.
The other two, well, I know that I have shared them before, but I am not sure where. I suspect that it was on my other blog, the one dedicated to complaining, bitching and general navel-gazing. Both are original compositions of mine and were created in conjunction with some workshops that I was giving at the time, which is at least fifteen or more years ago.
I am coming back to this space, having just typed both of these, and, seriously, not only did these things mean something significant to me at the time I wrote them, but I found them again just when I needed to be reminded that I do have exactly what I need to get through this, and that I will survive in some way, even if the person who betrayed me succeeds in ruining my reputation. Even if that goes, the public image that people have of me, I still have everything I really need. I will still have most of my family and friends, the people who truly know who and what I am.
Bubbles are perfection.
They exist as bubbles before we breathe them, as we breathe them into this realm and after they expand into invisibility.
Bubbles demonstrate how our sense of control is simply an illusion, a pleasant fantasy.
When we breathe a bubble, it is in a particular direction.
When the bubble as been formed, it takes the path it was designed to take, even if we press against the air to push it into another direction.
A bubble will follow it's own path, it's own destiny.
Bubbles contain all the colors of the Universe in an ever-changing circle of movement and re-creation.
Bubbles are precisely the size they are supposed to be.
Bubbles exist in this realm for precisely the length of time they are supposed to exist.
Bubbles meeting other bubbles create a new form appropriate for the union.
Breathing a bubble helps us to breathe properly, filling our lungs from the bottom to the top, expanding them for our maximum benefit.
Breathing a bubble helps us to focus on the moment, slowing our pulse rate and enhancing our ability to calm ourselves.
To become peaceful, in the midst of that which is not peaceful, is only one of the bubbles many gifts to us.
This one was accompanied by a semi-precious gemstone charm, in the shape of a turtle, more totemish than anything.
I have met the Turtle, and he is me
I am the Turtle.
I have a shell to protect me from the ravings, the comings and goings of those who would seek to disturb and perturb me.
I carry my protection with me wherever my journey leads me.
My protection prevents me not from living full, and consciously.
My creed has passed to me from our ancient ancestor, the Tortoise, whose deeds are legend.
Like my ancestor, I choose to live in the moment.
I choose to honor my goals, but not be held hostage by them
I choose to travel at the pace appropriate for me, resisting the contrived pace that others would set for me.
I choose to arrive at the finish line centered, informed, confident, successful and far ahead of that annoying, self-absorbed, little hare.
I am the Turtle.
Were you listening?
Oooooh, I must have been royally pissed at some person in my life that tried to be the hare and make me do something I did not want to do. Yikes. Still nice, though. It is on a half-page card stock sheet and a little agate turtle is sewn to it. The bubble one was given out with a small bottle of bubbles. Hmmmm, I just put five bottles, brand new by the way, of those coloured bubble mixtures in one of the charity boxes. I might have to dig through them, rescue the bubbles and take them outside some night, if I ever can stay up late enough to go out in the dark with my martini. Thank goodness that olives do not go bad, yes?