The big sale of household goods is tomorrow and Saturday. The past 2 mornings the fellow who is handling the sale has been here pricing the mountains of stuff. He keeps requesting that I not be offended when he prices, say, one of the hundreds of teapots I had collected, at 10 or 15 dollars. Am I offended? No. I have only asked that 3 items be priced a little higher, otherwise I have been granted the gift of detachment from all these things.
I see my choice as either remaining shackled to this monstrous burden, trying- and failing- to keep up the pretense that I am not bent over and struggling with both the physical and the psychic weight of it all; or I can let go of it, hopefully getting some much needed cash in return, and be able to walk upright again. I choose the latter.
The detachment truly began with the death of two of my cats a few weeks ago and I am working through my grief about them and the studio and garden and can see glimmers of hope. Yesterday, I took some time to sit on the porch and read. Just about that time the quality of the air shifted and it became clearer and drier. I stopped reading and looked at the old willow gilded by the westering sun, felt the breeze and realized that I was..... happy. I soaked it in like someone who had been crawling through the desert and had found a spring of clear, cool, pure water. True, it did not last- I can't say I am as happy right now, but I have retained a small bit of optimism.
I also have had to detach from a space I found that other than the price is perfect- in some ways it is my dream. I have taken steps to find someone to rent part of it as a work space to make it affordable and anything beyond that is out of my control. So I have had to detach from it, if it was meant to be it will happen, if not well, I have until the 21st...